


trial by luxury

by kaermorons



Series: The Slutty College AU [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Drama, Contracts, Dom/sub, Fivesome - M/M/M/M/M, M/M, Multi, Negotiations, Self-Indulgent, Sickfic, Slutty College AU, Sugar Baby Eskel, Sugar Baby Geralt, Sugar Baby Jaskier | Dandelion, Sugar Baby Lambert, Sugar Daddy Vesemir, Vesemir Fucks and You Cannot Stop Me, Wintering at Kaer Morhen but make it modern, mysterious pasts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: Jaskier spends 30 days wintering with Vesemir, Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert in their luxury penthouse. It's a trial period to see if he's going to be happy in the life of a sugar baby. It's not going to go how any of them envisioned.Or, the Slutty College AU grew a plot against my better judgment.LEFT INCOMPLETE 12DEC2020.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert/Vesemir
Series: The Slutty College AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908193
Comments: 282
Kudos: 215
Collections: Polyamorous Relationships For the Win, Witcher Kinktober Ring





	1. settling for more

**Author's Note:**

> I know there's only the G/E/L/J/V tag on here but maybe 95% of the time, the sex is between just two of them. I won't bog down the rest of the tags with what is clearly a poly relationship. This won't earn its E rating until Chapter 2. Planning on updating this Mondays and Thursdays until it's done. It's outlined and 20% written as of the day I'm posting this first chapter.

The penthouse is magnificent.

In the private living spaces, there are four suites on one floor, with a decked-out bathroom and an incredible view of the city from every angle. They’re at least 40 floors up. Each suite on this floor is indicative of their owner’s personalities, ranging from “eclectic, chaotic art student” (Lambert) to “minimalist gamer” (Geralt) to “ultra-chic modern luxury” (Eskel). Vesemir’s suite, however, sits atop the four suites, the topmost tier of the silvery-glass and icy-steel Morhen building. In addition to the spacious bedroom and sitting area, Vesemir keeps an office on the same level, and the bathroom is a favorite of all his boys. The fourth room, however, is completely bare, only some bare bulbs in the room and the bathroom. It’s not even a little dusty, so it’s been kept intentionally empty.

Vesemir doesn’t like guests over, you see. His private residence is a _private_ residence. Out-of-town friends stay below the more “public” living spaces, at least a full floor between them and the “funhouse” at all times.

The entrance to the penthouse opens onto a large gallery, surrounded on three sides by broad glass walls, keeping the wraparound pool at bay from the living room and music room. Of course, with it being winter, the room can get quite chilly, so the pool is generally kept covered until at least March.

To round out the main living spaces, the gym and library sit next to one another, separated by glass doors. The ceilings are incredibly tall, and give the impression of being swallowed whole by luxury.

The kitchen is something else, however.

A deep, verdant wall of plants covers one wall, interspersed with ferns so dark they’re almost black, and they artfully cascade up to the ceiling. Normally, the outer walls, huge sheets of glass with unmatched views of the city, could be opened up to let a cross-breeze through, but the swirling snow across the whole balcony is enough of a deterrent from that.

The problem, however, is that Jaskier doesn’t quite remember where the kitchen...is.

He’d gone wandering in his new home, wrapped in a mishmash of everyone else’s clothes, with no destination in sight, but when he catches a glimpse of a clock on the wall, he finds himself utterly lost in a sea of beige and gray carpeting.

_Fuck._

He tries retracing his steps, but it all looks the same. He’s about to panic, ready to accept his fate starving in some liminal-space office building, when a familiar face rounds a corner, lighting up when he sees Jaskier. His black hair flops into his face a little, framing the bright smile, along with the two small spider bite piercings under his lips. _Lambert._

“That’s where you got to, sugar!” Lambert jogs the rest of the way over to Jaskier, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his hair.

Jaskier blushes furiously. He’s still getting used to the idea of even being here: the place where the four objects of his _obsession_ live, under one roof. He’d be playing sugar baby for thirty days, fucking and having fun until the spring semester begins. After that, they’d determine whether he’s a good fit for the penthouse, for the empty bedroom somewhere above his head. He’s going to have to get used to being _familiar_ with the four of them: Lambert, Eskel, Geralt, and the man at the top, Vesemir. His whirlwind courting through the last few months had been hard to keep up with, but he thinks this will be exciting, even if he feels a little less sure-footed than normal.

Lambert’s telling him what Vesemir made for dinner, chattering amiably as they wind back up a set of stairs Jaskier had passed three times in his turned-around state. Lambert’s hand drops to his, squeezing before lacing their fingers together. Bravely, Jaskier presses a kiss to Lambert’s cheek. Lambert has the confidence and swagger to stay cool and collected, unlike Jaskier, who has taken on a rather beet-red color. “You really are sweet as sugar, aren’t you,” Lambert says. Jaskier squeaks, and is about to deny it, when they finally enter the kitchen, which smells absolutely fantastic.

Vesemir’s hair is pulled back in his usual low tail, revealing the handsome profile that still makes Jaskier’s heart pound. He’s dressed casually, how he was when Jaskier woke up from their rather-dramatic rescue from his old apartment. He’s piling something into a serving dish, something with pasta that’s probably a far cry from Jaskier’s normal ramen fare. He gives a warm smile to Lambert and Jaskier when they come in. “Where’d you go, bunny?” Vesemir asks, and oh _god_ Jaskier likes it when he calls him that in front of the others.

“Found this one wandering around in the corporate labyrinth downstairs,” Lambert teases, goosing Jaskier’s sides a little and making him jump about a foot in the air, giggling. Jaskier runs to Vesemir’s side in defense.

“I got turned around a bit. This place is so massive. I’m gonna lose stuff all the time here,” Jaskier kisses Vesemir’s cheek, too.

“You’ll get your bearings quick, darling. You’re a smart little one,” Eskel presses a kiss to the back of his head, hands barely brushing across the small of his back. It thrills Jaskier to no end, hearing the man’s easy timbre rumble through his bones like an ocean current. Jaskier gives him a broad smile, his heart clenching when Eskel hides his scarred face shyly. He’s every bit the poet Jaskier first met like this, subdued and humble, lost in thought, and overthinking at every turn.

“Boy,” Vesemir snaps his fingers and points to the dish on the wide island counter. Geralt comes up, all of his muscly form bundled into a thin sweater that stretches torturously against his pecs. His white hair hangs down, a little damp from their post-orgy shower, making him look much softer and demure than he did the first night he and Jaskier met. He obediently moves the serving dishes onto the table, eyes cast downward.

The nature of his and Vesemir’s relationship baffles Jaskier a little, just from the memories he has of Geralt’s easy confidence and playboy attitude. In the penthouse, they’re all sort of different - Eskel is sweeter, shy, compared to the mysterious and aloof man Jaskier had run into at the open mic. Geralt was - well, you know. Vesemir seemed a little less tightly-wound here, a few of those metaphorical (and literal) buttons undone now that he’s off the clock. The only one that seemed at all consistent in his personality is Lambert, who’s got the same playful attitude and sparkling eyes as he did when Jaskier met him at the wet t-shirt contest.

Jaskier wonders how the penthouse will change _him,_ if at all.

They sit at the table, all gathered together around Vesemir at the end, the five grinning at one another happily. “Well, I wanna tell you all that I am very happy we’ve decided to try this out. To the next thirty days,” Vesemir toasts, raising his glass of wine. They raise their own glasses and cheer together before digging in.

The food is delicious, which Jaskier makes sure to say any chance he can get. Vesemir looks very pleased with himself. For the most part, delicious meals are usually spent in silence, so Jaskier finds himself zoning out and looking at the glittery skyline past all the snow and dark. He doesn’t catch himself sighing dreamily and looking entirely starry-eyed, but the others do, endlessly endeared to him with each passing moment.

As dinner winds down, Vesemir mentions errands to run the next day. Jaskier nods at the mention of them all getting tested, and has already made an appointment for the five of them the next afternoon. “There’s also the matter of your room, bunny.”

Jaskier nearly chokes on wine. “My room?” Jaskier says.

“In all your exploring, you didn’t see the empty room on the suite level the rest of us live on?” Lambert says, grinning across the table at him. Jaskier bites his lip. “A word of advice - you’re not getting out of Vesemir buying things for you. You’ll need a bed of your own every so often.” Jaskier looks to Vesemir for confirmation.

“He’s right. And don’t even worry about the cost, that’s all taken care of anyway.”

Jaskier pales a little at the mention of money and turns his eyes back to his meal. He swallows his pride after chewing on his lip, trying to look confident in the face of all this newness. “So long as it’s no worry for you, Daddy.” Jaskier feels Geralt’s foot hook around his ankle in comfort.

“Great, that’s settled. You can sleep in my bed with me until then, bun.”

“But—” Geralt cuts himself off with a sharp look from Vesemir. He’s cowed instantaneously, but there’s frustration and tension in every inch of him. His foot leaves Jaskier’s abruptly. Jaskier swallows roughly around his pasta, unsure of what the fuck just happened.

“Are you finished eating, boy?” Vesemir says, keeping that tension taut between them all.

“No, Sir,” Geralt grinds out, hands flexing beneath the table.

“Then I advise you to curb the attitude and speak when spoken to.”

The worst part is how Eskel and Lambert don’t even blink about this. Jaskier downs the rest of his wine in one, topped off by Eskel with the bottle. “Thank you for dinner,” Jaskier says softly, feeling the need to be as submissive as Geralt is trying to be.

The rest of the dinner is kind of sour, but Vesemir breaks out another bottle of wine and the mood shifts when he puts a hand on the back of Geralt’s neck, squeezing once before rubbing between his shoulders. Jaskier lets out a little breath and holds out his glass for more wine. 

“We’ll get lunch tomorrow, after the clinic appointment and I owe you all a re-do of family day.” The others nod quietly, but Jaskier’s just confused.

“Family day?” Jaskier says.

Vesemir gives a good-natured sigh. “Yes, well, that’s what Lambert’s been calling it. I’ll make sure to talk to you about it, but typically on Sundays we spend the day together, all of us, unless there are other plans.”

“There’s a bit of a schedule to being a sugar baby,” Lambert clarifies.

“You’ll catch on quick,” Eskel says.

“Ah,” Jaskier says, not quite understanding, but Vesemir promised clarity later, so Jaskier can be patient. “Adjustments, and all.”

The rest of the night passes in quiet conversation, before the whole craziness of the day catches up with them. Lambert and Eskel wish them goodnight, disappearing up the stairs, leaving just Geralt, Vesemir, and Jaskier. “I can do the dishes!” Jaskier exclaims, jumping up to collect them.

“I’m sure our maid would appreciate that, bunny, but you don’t have to,” Vesemir says, pulling him away before he has a chance to protest. The three of them walk up, Geralt trailing slightly behind, before Vesemir turns to him. Without looking at Jaskier, he says, “Go on up, bunny, I’m right behind you.”

Jaskier _definitely_ doesn’t peek around the door at the top and see Vesemir drop Geralt to his knees, pressing him close.

He also definitely doesn’t press a hand to the front of his borrowed sweatpants, trying to keep his dick from demanding an audience. Oh, this is going to be _fun._

Vesemir cuddles him in his sleep, both of them a bit strung-out from the hecticness of getting Jaskier safe from his walk-in freezer of an apartment, and the celebratory orgy they all shared. Jaskier surprises himself by falling asleep quickly and deeply.

The next morning, Vesemir has him get dressed from his bag in the corner, and come downstairs with him, where Eskel’s already making something for breakfast. True to form, the plates from the night before are gone, and everything smells vaguely of cinnamon and mint. Coffee and food are shared at the counter, Eskel preferring to stand, along with Geralt, whose sleepy face is just the most precious thing Jaskier has ever seen. Lambert, however, is a bright-and-early morning person, and Jaskier tries not to groan.

_Adjustments, indeed._

Vesemir whisks Jaskier off into the city, though he’s on the phone for about half of the drive. Jaskier enjoys the plush seats of the Bentley the most, they allow him to lean over and hold onto Daddy’s thigh. Vesemir holds his hand there, smiling and humming as he drives. Jaskier almost forgets their first stop until they’re pulling into a parallel spot before a large boutique.

It’s smaller than Jaskier expected a furniture store to be, but he’d gotten most of his things off of buy and trade forums in the city anyway. He gulps a little and tries not to think about the dreaded dollar sign.

A woman in a gray suit comes and shakes their hands, and Vesemir explains that “his Jaskier needs his bedroom set up.” The possessiveness in his voice, in his choice of words, makes Jaskier’s ears turn pink and his vision swirl for a moment, but he’s soon righted as they file into a sitting area, a mishmash of sofas with various textures and colors.

The woman asks Jaskier warmly, “Typically we start with a bed, a desk, and a seating option. Which would you like to start with?”

Jaskier’s creative heart takes the reins from his frugal mind and he starts babbling. “I really like four-poster beds. Canopy beds seem so romantic to me, I’ve always liked them. I like desks with a lot of space, and oh!” He interrupts himself and pulls out his phone, scrolling back a few photos to a screenshot of Craigslist. “I like this kind of rocking chair, it seems comfy.”

The woman, unlike Vesemir, does not flinch in horror at the “USED - $20 NEGOTIABLE” advertisement, but only smiles and nods. “Comfort’s important, then? Do you prefer a softer mattress or a firmer one?”

“I uh…” Jaskier looks to Vesemir for help. He’s only ever had rock-hard mattresses (except for Daddy’s bed) and is at a loss.

“Let’s do something adjustable,” Vesemir says cooly, and Jaskier relaxes a little, leaning against his side in thanks. “I think also some plush rugs would be nice. We don’t want Jaskier getting cold.”

 _That’s an understatement._ “Any opinions on color? Fabric? Textures?”

Jaskier feels anxious, the panic about the bill coming on despite his earlier bravado. “I uh. Pink and yellow? Dark gray?”

“Great choices. Will you want the silk sheets the others have?”

“Yes, he will,” Vesemir says, squeezing his hand comfortingly. Jaskier ducks his head, but unfortunately glimpses the price tag for the couch they’re sitting on. It’s more than last semester’s tuition, something horrendously five-figure and utterly mortifying to think about. Jaskier doesn’t want to sit on this couch for long.

Luckily, Vesemir catches onto this and handles the rest, speaking quickly to the woman and letting her know Lambert needs another set of sheets, something about a silk-painting experiment gone wrong. It’s a bit of a blur from then to when they’re sliding back into the Bentley again. “Bunny, you alright?” Vesemir holds his face gently, rubbing his thumbs across his cheeks.

“S’alot of money, huh,” Jaskier mumbles, blushing.

“You’re worth every penny and more. I want to take care of you, and I wouldn’t settle for anything but the best for my bunny.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Jaskier chokes up and hugs him, burying his face in Vesemir’s hair. Vesemir cuddles him for a few minutes before kissing all over his face.

“Anything you want, bunny, it’s yours. I mean that.” Jaskier doesn’t want to ask for too much and risk pushing Vesemir’s limits, for surely there are some. Who would want to give him endless treasures and even more love? “We gotta meet the others at the clinic.”

Jaskier at least knows this part, from the free clinics on campus. After the uncomfortable bits with the doctor are done, the questionnaires and the swabs and the blood samples, it ends with what looks like a Jedi mind trick about Jaskier’s insurance, and the promise of a phone call the next day for results.

The five of them split between Vesemir’s Bentley and Lambert’s Rover, and head to lunch. It’s in the lobby of a huge hotel Jaskier has marveled over many times before, and the private table flusters Jaskier to no end.

Vesemir plucks the menu from his hands before he can gawk at the prices, and hands it over to Lambert for safekeeping. “Consommé and duck, sweetbread and lobster. With the wine pairings, thank you.” Vesemir says to the waiter, silent as a cat behind his shoulder. The others fire off their orders, and the waiter leaves.

“Do you all come here often?”

“No need to pick us up, darling, you’ve already got us in the bag,” Eskel grins, nudging him with his foot under the table. “We try and come as often as possible. Usually never on family days, Vesemir likes to cook for us.”

“I noticed that,” Jaskier smiles. “What did you all get up to while we were out?”

The three exchange salacious grins before Vesemir sighs. “The PG version, if you will.”

“I was beating the shit out of Geralt in poker before he got all huffy and ran a half-marathon. Again.” Lambert grins at the glower Geralt gives.

“You were cheating, I’m allowed to be upset.”

“I was _not_ cheating, Eskel was just making incredibly interesting faces while he read a book behind you.”

Lunch is full of lighthearted, warm banter that Jaskier gets in on as well. The wine is wonderful, as is the food, and not worrying about the price makes him enjoy it that much more. He’s glad Vesemir knows about his financial fears, and knows when he can’t take any more.

“Now,” Vesemir says, looking at Jaskier. “A bit of business.”

“Dun dun dun…” Eskel jokes. Lambert drum rolls on the table a little bit.

“Geralt?” Vesemir says. Geralt pulls out a rather ridiculous-looking binder from a bag on the floor, with an embossed cover and some gold foil on the edges. It’s a lot.

“Uh…” Jaskier takes it, almost balking at the heft of it. Inside, each page sits in a glossy protective cover. There’s a goddamned _table of contents,_ and labels that say such things as— “Does this say _Sexual Limits?”_ Jaskier hisses.

“Ooh, straight for the good bits, Lammy like,” Lambert leers teasingly.

“This is a copy of the contract I’ll ask you to sign after the trial. I don’t expect you to read all of it with an attorney’s eye, but I’ve highlighted a fair few passages you should look over. There’s flags with—”

“Contract? Like fifty shades, super sexy super-secret contract?” Jaskier asks, interrupting. Vesemir isn’t pleased, but understands he’s a bit under pressure right now.

“If you must compare it to that, I have several other _actual_ books you may better learn from, but yes. The nature of how we work operates on structure, on having rules we all adhere to. Most of what’s in there is really just common sense, but this would protect everyone from any legal trouble that may come up.”

“Taxes. He means taxes. We’re almost dependent tax write-offs for him,” Lambert says, into his wine.

“In addition, I expect you all to work in some capacity at the club, so this is also an employment contract. You wouldn’t be walking away with nothing, if you chose to do so down the line.”

“I…” Jaskier gulps and looks at the table of contents again, the plastic pages flopping into place. _The Provisional Card. Gifts. Tax Definitions. Kink List(s)._ “Thank you for showing me this now, and not ten minutes before you want an answer.”

“We like surprises, but we’d never force you into something you were unsure of.”

“I might need some time to read this. I prefer my contacts, and I left them at the apartment.” The table exchanges grins with one another, the mood considerably lighter than when Geralt had pulled out the binder before. “But I look forward to reading it.”


	2. binding agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaaaaaalllllll have some sexy. Love ya.

He rides back with Geralt and Eskel in the Bentley, and pages through the binder as they talk about real estate in Japan or something.

> _The Schedule._
> 
> _BLUF:_
> 
> _Mon-Thurs:_ _No requirements._
> 
> _Fri, Sat:_ _Daytime: No requirements._
> 
> _Nighttime: Club_
> 
> _Sun:_ _“Family day”, all day._
> 
> _Half-shifts at the club are mandated once a week in any of the non-manager positions. Negotiation available at request. Family Days are not restricted to the Morhen Building penthouse, and often include outings. Group sex (all signees) is a typical Sunday activity, but defers to the Consent clauses whenever…_

Jaskier rapidly pages through until he finds…

> _Consent is to be freely given or taken away at any time, for any aspect of sex or behavior while under contract. Consent may be pre-negotiated for scenes, verbally given, or given in writing. Acting against the consent of any signee will result in immediate contract termination with no chance of sundown benefits. (see Sundown Process)_

He flips to Sundown Process.

> _Healthcare coverage will continue for a period of no more than four (4) years after contract termination, and financial benefits will wean at a rate of no more than 15% per quarter. Any physical gifts are considered the property of each signee, and moving services will be provided upon—_

Jaskier snaps the book shut. Eskel glances at him from the passenger seat, a question in the tilt of his brow. “You can ask any of us, ours all look the same.”

“Healthcare?” Jaskier asks.

“We’re all on Vesemir’s plan. It’s pretty expansive. Lambert’s been in therapy since before we knew him, and it takes care of any health issues you might have. I think Vesemir wants to bring an optometrist into the penthouse for you.”

“Are you on the therapy plan?” Jaskier asks. Both of them laugh, long and loud, and he’s confused as to why.

“Why would we need therapy?”

Jaskier might not have the surest footing to provide any answers to that.

“Is this schedule year-round?”

“Sure is. Schoolyear events are pretty negotiable if you have any conflicts. And if you wanted to just take a week off and visit somewhere, that’s never a problem.”

“Where would I want to visit alone for a week?” Jaskier asks.

“Usually family, friends out of state, different countries.”

Jaskier feels his face heat up and looks back down at the binder in his hands. “Well, won’t be making that first one, then.” His relationship with his dad is...more than complicated. The thought makes him wonder how his dad has been, these last three years.

“Welcome to the club,” Geralt grunts, sitting up a little straighter as he pulls into the penthouse lot. The Rover isn’t there yet, despite Lambert and Vesemir taking off earlier.

“Where’d the others go?” Jaskier asks.

“Probably to go break into your apartment again, get your contacts. Vesemir has this incredible ability to pick up on your wants and needs and will have a single-minded focus to fulfill them without you knowing. I sneezed once and had a cup of tea in my hand within two minutes.”

“One time, I tried hiding a week-long migraine from him and he had everything ready to help me out the moment I came to him about it.”

“Lambert broke his finger on his Louis Vuitton punching bag and Vesemir had to _trick_ him into going to the hospital, though.”

“Louis Vuitton punching bag?” Jaskier asks, weakly.

“Yeah, _that’s_ a story Lambert might have to tell you about himself, though.”

There’s a strange pause to their conversation as they get in the elevator, with Jaskier in front of Eskel and Geralt.

“You know, I wonder how many responsible things we could do before we get our test results back,” Eskel observes.

“Hm, yes. We must be responsible, after all,” Geralt concurs.

“Well, I’m sure if we’re _really_ careful…” As one, they each slip a hand into each of Jaskier’s back pockets, squeezing a squeak out of him. They descend on him, Eskel kissing down his neck while Geralt kisses him stupid.

He almost forgets the binder in the elevator.

* * *

Reclined on the couch, reunited with his glasses once again, Jaskier cracks open the binder.

> _Suite Level._
> 
> _Each of the rooms (1, 2, 3 (vacant), 4, and Top Floor) should be treated like embassies, in that even though they are on penthouse “land”, they are foreign “soil”. Each suite is ruled entirely at the discretion of their owner, and each signee will follow those rules in each, permitting access when wanted, and barring permission when unwanted. No activities in the penthouse or the suite areas should conflict with any of the Consent Clauses, Sexual Limits, or Foundational Rules defined in this contract._

“Foundational Rules…” Jaskier mutters, sipping his cocoa and muttering to himself as he finds the page.

> _Foundational Rules._
> 
> _For all activities under contract, there will be no:_
> 
>   * _Drug abuse of any kind_
>   * _Self-harm or lasting physical harm to others_
>   * _Serious violence or threats of violence_
>   * _Weaponry or explosive devices_
>   * _Illegal activities of any kind_
>   * _Hiding of injuries or illnesses (ADDED: 2018)_
> 


“The punching bag incident, then.”

>   * _Extortion or blackmail (to include revenge porn, nonconsensual recording, or threat of preceding activities)_
>   * _Sex on the kitchen counters (ADDED: 2017, EMPHASIZED 2018, 2019, 2020)_
> 


“Oh my god,” Jaskier giggles. He leafs through some more, muttering as he goes. “Okay, health plan...therapy... _plastic surgery?”_ he sips his coffee. “Right okay. Sure. Alright, provisional ca…”

_Oh fuck._

Vesemir hears a pair of feet running up two flights of stairs, before whoever it is pauses, catches their breath, and knocks at the door. “Come in, Jaskier.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, everyone else is in here with me.”

Jaskier comes into the office, seeing Geralt’s head poking out beneath the desk, Lambert and Eskel playing cards at a table nearby. “Ignore Geralt, he’s being punished.”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide, but he takes the seat across the desk from Vesemir. “I had um. A question?”

“Just one?”

“Just one right now,” Jaskier clarifies. “This says I’m given t-tw-twelve thousand dollars?”

“With room for negotiation. Why, think you’ll need more?” Vesemir asks, reciting the rest of the contract clause about the provisionary card. “The black cards are all at a much higher credit limit, but you won’t get that until after the contract is signed.”

“I...why?” Jaskier asks in a high voice, slightly overwhelmed. 

Vesemir sits forward, pulling a small gagging noise from under the desk. Jaskier blushes furiously. “I know you feel hesitant, even nervous, about me spending money on you, but even if I don’t buy you the things you want ever again, I want you to be able to buy them for yourself, without any guilt about it. That money is yours. I’ll have access to bank statements, of course, but it’s your own discretionary money.”

“Well, I want sparkly pink bunnies on my card. I don’t really have a lot of dark things.” Jaskier counters. Vesemir gives him a slow smile.

“I think I can do that.” His attention shifts. “Boy, finish the fuck up.”

There’s a throaty noise from under the desk, and Jaskier can hardly tear his eyes away from that teasing expanse of lacquered wood, just thinking about what it hides. Vesemir leans back in his chair and closes his eyes.

“You can go watch closer, if you want,” Lambert whispers in his ear, tempting and teasing all at once. Vesemir beckons Jaskier to his side, and he comes as if in a trance.

Geralt works Vesemir’s cock with singleminded intent, his eyes closed but a focused furrow to his brow. He bobs up and down the length, never deep enough to choke him, but Jaskier assumes he’ll go deeper the closer Vesemir is to finishing.

He’s right.

Vesemir tightens a hand in Geralt’s hair, pulling those gorgeous snow-white tresses into a fist and forcing him lower and lower. Geralt chokes a little, sputtering around the thick length in his mouth, but doesn’t pull off. Jaskier notices Geralt’s hands are around Vesemir’s ankles in a grip that must have been intentional. “You like how he looks down there, bunny?” Vesemir asks smoothly, not even a tremor in his voice.

“Yes, Daddy. He looks good on his knees.” Geralt makes a high noise around Vesemir’s cock and redoubles his efforts, pushing himself deeper, faster, sucking harder.

_Interesting._

“Go on,” Vesemir says, one hand on Jaskier’s hip.

“I wonder how long he’d want to stay on his knees like that, just serving nothing but his mouth for hours.” Jaskier takes to the teasing note the rest have around Geralt with ease. “Bet he’d touch the carpet burn we give him with the same reverence as a kiss. Think he’d want to stay crawling around for us, Daddy?”

Geralt gives another high noise, a whimper. “I think he’d like that,” Vesemir says, a little breathless for the first time.

“Good,” Jaskier coos. To the side, Eskel and Lambert have stopped their game, and are watching the proceedings with a hand in their pants. “He’d look so pretty like a little puppy, wouldn’t he Daddy?” Jaskier drapes himself over the back of the chair, wrists crisscrossed over Vesemir’s chest. He kisses Daddy’s cheek.

“You’re gonna be the death of me. We’ll have puppies and bunnies and lambs running around like a zoo.”

“And pandas?” Lambert asks from across the office, a smirk on his face.

“You’ll do well to zip it,” Vesemir warns, shooting him a look. Lambert just grins, but stays quiet.

“Oh, Daddy, you know you turn us into animals, don’t you? I think you like it, down on our knees beneath you, baring ourselves open and _begging.”_

Vesemir’s grip tightens and he pushes Geralt’s head down all the way, groaning as he comes down his throat. He lets him off with a sigh. “Open,” Vesemir instructs. Geralt does, showing nothing but a milky-white color over his tongue. Not a drop missed, then. “Good boy, don’t brat out like that again. Talk to me, for fuck’s sake.” Vesemir’s harsh tone is cut by the gentle pets he’s giving Geralt’s hair, smoothing it back down from the rough grip he’d had on it just a few minutes prior. Geralt leans into his hand.

“Thank you, Sir,” he rasps out, resting his head on Vesemir’s thigh as he tucks his spent cock back into his trousers.

“Hey, sugar, why don’t we go downstairs to mine?” Lambert’s already got an arm around Jaskier’s waist, and he has barely a second to snatch up the binder before he’s being carried bodily out of the office.

“Bye, Daddy!” he giggles.

Lambert’s room is kind of a fucking mess, but a very deliberate mess. Cushy rugs cover almost every inch of the hardwood floors, colorful and remarkably unstained. The dropcloth under the easel in the corner, however, had no such luck. Lambert’s room is an artist’s explosion in every corner, the art supplies hutch overflowing with expensive paints and brushes, stacks of tin containers holding pencils and pastels, a small mountain of sketchbooks on the floor where the shelf had given up trying to hold them. The holes in the wall were turned into a quite artful set of tits, if Jaskier is being honest.

His bed doesn’t have the same silk as the others do, electing for soft jersey cotton in a marled gray. It’s where Lambert so graciously deposits him. He plucks the binder from his hands and replaces its weight with his own body, Eskel coming to sit beside them, already half-naked.

“We’re gonna fuuuuck,” Lambert sings into his neck between kisses. Jaskier giggles again and squirms.

“Yes please!” he grins. He’s soon divested of his clothes, and indulges in the warmth radiating from his bedpartners. Lambert is very skilled with his mouth, leaving little nips and kisses all over him until he’s panting and straining, his cock flushed and hard. Eskel pulls Jaskier’s face closer, kissing him deeply and slowly. Jaskier moans into Eskel’s mouth when Lambert’s lips wrap around the head of his cock, _finally._

They squirm and writhe together until _someone_ finally remembers lube and condoms, and _someone_ gets their dick in Jaskier. He’s too fucking excited that he can’t concentrate more than one thought at a time. When he looks up, though, the body before him is undeniably Eskel’s, that beautiful scarred face grinning down at him. “Gonna just gawk, darling?”

He gives a pout and lowers himself to suck Eskel’s dick, Lambert taking his time thrusting indulgently in and out of his ass. Jaskier has a thought of being so well-fucked while living here, someone could probably just slip right in whenever they wanted to. The thought comes at the same time Lambert brushes against his prostate, tearing a much larger moan from his throat than he’d bargained for. “Oooh, you got something to say, darling?” Eskel asks, his voice just a little rougher.

Jaskier pops off and tells them _exactly_ what he was thinking, forcing a sharp stutter of Lambert’s hips. A pretty little bead of precome leaks out of Eskel’s cock. Meeting Eskel’s eyes, he lowers his head down and licks it up, mewling happily at the taste. They get back to business, all of them incredibly worked up from watching Vesemir’s composure break up in the office.

Eskel comes first, his voice just a jumble of noises centered around _your fucking mouth, darling,_ and Jaskier takes him deep, not wanting to waste a drop just like how Geralt had done. Eskel’s hands go to the back of Jaskier’s head as he shouts, gasping for breath. Lambert shifts his hips and grinds his dick against Jaskier’s prostate, forcing his muscles to spasm beautifully around him. With a quickened few huffs of breath, he jerks forward and spills into the condom. Jaskier gasps for air when Eskel pulls him off, and the room spins when he rolls to his back.

Instantly, Lambert is there, taking his prick into his mouth and jerking him off with his other hand. “Lambert!” Jaskier cries, hands fisting in the sheets as he meets his release. Lambert’s messy with his blowjobs, grinning and letting a bit drip down his chin, even covering the two piercings beneath his lip. He smears the head of Jaskier’s cock against his cheek, and the image makes Jaskier throw an arm over his eyes and keen. “Fuck you’re so hot. Fuck.”

“Eskel? Wanna taste?” Lambert crawls up the bed and locks lips with Eskel, who cleans off the come with ease. Jaskier peeks only a little, and still manages to blush, despite it all.

They lay together in their post-orgasmic haze, grinning and laughing, trading kisses and gentle touches. It’s dazzling and beautiful, and the soft light from the windows gives everything a dusky color.

“Shower?” Lambert suggests.

“Ooh, shower?” Jaskier sits up, grinning.

_Okay, maybe this whole thing will be easier than I thought it’d be._


	3. terms and conditions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short one but lays out some rules. see ya thursday

He wakes up in Vesemir’s bed again, and his gaze catches on the binder set on the nightstand. Before he can reach out for it, a warm, sleep-rumpled voice interrupts him. “Good morning, bunny.”

“Good morning!” Jaskier rolls back over, and into Vesemir’s welcoming arms. He gets a kiss to his forehead.

“Have any dreams?”

Jaskier shakes his head. “I think my mind can hardly comprehend being here with you all, it thinks everything’s a dream.” Vesemir makes a pleased noise. Jaskier chases the noise with a chaste kiss to his lips, mindful of his morning breath. They snuggle together, sleep-warm and precious. Jaskier’s eyes still stray toward the...

“I know you probably have many more questions about the contract than you brought up yesterday.”

“I’m trying to read it in pieces, just where my curiosity takes me. I um.” His voice breaks as a certain section burns through his curiosity and starts feeding on anxiety. “Could you tell me about the sexual limits?”

Vesemir grunts as he reaches over to grab the binder, though he knows its contents by heart.

“What have you read of them?”

“Not much,” Jaskier admits. “Everyone has their own words and limits, hard enough to put in writing, in a contract.” Vesemir kisses his head, pleased to know Jaskier has been taking this seriously.

“Well, as I’m sure you know, my word is final, in or out of the bedroom. There’s not gonna be any play with bodily fluids outside of come and sweat and tears. That means no bloodplay, too. No body mutilation, burning or scarring, branding or permanent marking.”

Jaskier goes still in his arms, somewhat focused, somewhat terrified by the bluntness of the conversation. Vesemir takes his tension as attentiveness, and continues.

“Breathplay is only under the closest supervision, namely my own. Starving, withholding water and denying bathroom breaks is an immediate no. If I hear about it in my house, from anyone with you, it’ll be the curb for you.” Jaskier’s side is nudged, prompting a response. 

“I understand,” Jaskier squeaks.

“We’ll practice later but the safewords typically roll off of the usual BSDM practices - red for full stop, yellow for bump the brakes or pause, and green for all good. You are allowed to use them anywhere, check in anywhere, but if you’re not comfortable saying them in public, we also have blackberry and knoxville as our red and yellow. We all have other safewords and limits for ourselves, personally.”

Jaskier’s skin prickles and his blood runs cold. He’s already been in several situations with the others that could have - “I didn’t—”

“No, you didn’t know. If you were doing something they didn’t like, they would have told you.” Vesemir kisses his head. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes, please. I don’t have any questions yet.”

“Eskel’s personal word is Donner. You hear him say that with you, you back away and wait for him to tell you what happened, and happens next. He doesn’t like being coddled when he’s panicked. He doesn’t fuck in water, he doesn’t have his face slapped, and he doesn’t get come on his face either.

“Lambert’s word is,” Vesemir sighs. “Lambert’s word is bagelbite. I don’t know, he came up with it. He only kneels when he’s given permission for that order beforehand, he does not get recorded, is not called names, and has zero tolerance for demeaning language.

“Geralt’s word is mercy, he doesn’t like to be called boy by anyone but me, and his only hard limit is no suspension scenes. Non-rope bondage is fine.”

“And you?” Jaskier asks, committing each bit of information to memory. He worries that he doesn’t have anything figured out, he isn’t as perfunctory about his sex life as this.

“Well, my word is Yorktown. You already know I’ll bottom, but I won’t sub for you, I don’t like my hair pulled, and because I’ll be in charge in whatever we do, I won’t be blindfolded, gagged, or have any of my senses inhibited. Those are just the hard limits. Soft limits are typically discussed before any major scene, but can be changed at any time, in any way, if something becomes uncomfortable for you. Make sure you ask questions if you’re unsure, bunny. I don’t want you stiff-upper-lipping for the sake of someone else’s pleasure.”

Jaskier buries his face in Vesemir’s neck, taking in all of the information. Hearing it out loud makes the connection between the legalese of the binder and the reality of living here, fucking here, being with them all.

He knows limits don’t necessarily denote trauma, but he knows he’s fucked up enough that one false move in the wrong direction would have him spiraling. 

“Oh. One more thing. If  _ anyone _ experiences a drop. You come get me, no matter what.” Jaskier flushes in embarrassment, knowing Eskel and Geralt probably did just that on Sunday morning. It feels so long ago, but in reality was just two days prior. “I like taking care of you, but I feel it’s my responsibility, too.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Jaskier whimpers.

“Oh, none of that. Come on. I think Lambert’s making eggs in hell for breakfast.”

“What?”

* * *

Lambert has, indeed, made a giant skillet of eggs in hell, something he calls “shakshukatory” quite proudly. Jaskier indulges in the spicy tomatoes, eggs, and cheese, and it chases out the strange taste in his mouth that had lingered since Vesemir had mentioned burning and scarring. His scalp itches a little every time the memory comes back, but the rich food makes him forget it for awhile. Thoroughly fed, he retreats to the stunning library for a little, to hide out for a bit. And to think. 

The bright winter morning light illuminates each corner, showing off the sleek glass of a few research computers, and settling shadows into the creases and lines set in well-loved leather armchairs around a synthetic fireplace. No use burning the first editions to a crisp. The scent of the room is soothing, all old books and sandalwood, and as he pulls out a pen and paper, it focuses him on the topic at hand.

His own limits.

He supposes it’s only fair, to have boundaries in place that he can move back or forward depending on how their relationships go. After all, he’d only been sleeping with all of them less than a week, and maybe some things he’d disliked in the past could be replaced with good memories, based on the present company.

It’s overall an uncomfortable ordeal to think about his more vulnerable boundaries, even in the general splendor of the library. They’re so weak they need to be protected by paper and ink. 

> _ Safeword: Wicklight _

He has to set his pen down and take a few deep breaths, making this choice. It’s probably ill-advised to put such a name in a position of power that he’d need to  _ rely _ on, but from what he knows of safewords, they need to be something he wouldn’t say during sex, or in a sexual situation, ever.

If he had his way, they would never hear him say that name, and he would never have to say it again.

> _ No: _
> 
> _ \- breathplay _ _   
>  _ _ \- impacts (spanking excluded) _ _   
>  _ _ \- pinning/wrestling holds/choking/back of neck submission holds _ _   
>  _ _ \- rape fantasies, forcing, or coersion roleplay _ _   
>  _ _ \- smoking/fire _ _   
>  _ _ \- insults _
> 
> _ Medium-boiled no: _
> 
> _ \- praise _

It takes him almost an hour to come up with, and he’s breathing hard and flashing between hot and cold sweats.  _ It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine, everything’s normal, this is normal, you’ve survived worse, get a grip Jaskier. _

It takes a good long while to convince himself he’s allowed to be there, and have limits along with the rest of them. They want him there, living with them. 

He wanders out of the library with a wild look to his eyes, clutching the folded piece of paper in his hands as he sits in the living room. Eskel and Geralt are watching a movie, and spare him barely a glance as he comes in. Jaskier wraps a throw blanket around himself and peers around the corner. No Vesemir, no Lambert.

“Where…?”

“Lambert was feeling a bit tetchy from the crazy weekend, needed some Vesemir time,” Eskel says breezily. “What’s the paper?”

“Oh, it’s uh, my limits?”

“Better talk those over with Vesemir before we get them put in the contract,” Eskel says, just as aloof as before, turning back to the movie. Something about his indifference rubs Jaskier the wrong way, but Geralt swoops in.

“Cuddle?” the man says, already pulling Jaskier into his lap and wrapping him up in the blanket. Jaskier melts.

“I like your tattoo. I don’t think I told you, before,” Jaskier smiles at the faint pink blush that stains Geralt’s cheeks.

“Thank you. Took a lot of work.”

“Oh? How many hours?”

“He means,” Eskel leans over. “It took him about three weeks of ritual good behavior and spankings before Vesemir agreed to let him have it.”

“He didn’t want you to get it?” Jaskier asks, eyebrows shooting up.

Geralt rolls his eyes, shooting a glare at Eskel. “We don’t talk about our individual punishments, Eskel. They’re personal, not bargaining or bragging tools.” Eskel waves him off, looking back up at the movie. “Vesemir doesn’t like us doing things to our bodies while we’re under contract. The piercings were…”

“You and Lambert were fuuuuucked when you came back,” Eskel laughs. Geralt frowns, shutting down a little. Jaskier tries to change the topic.

“What’s the health care like?” he asks.

“Eh, it’s fine?” Eskel says. Geralt shrugs beneath him.

“Haven’t really needed to use it outside of STI testing or flu shots.”

“Neither of you use the counseling or therapy services?”

He’s met with laughter, and the way it echoes is a bit avante-garde, like a discordant set of keys had been slammed on the piano in the room.

“Why would we?”

_ Oh boy. _

* * *

Geralt offers his own bed to Jaskier that night, since Lambert and Vesemir weren’t done by the time they got tired. The tension between them, the shared glances, and their closeness throughout the movie set the stage for a heated kiss once they enter Geralt’s room. Jaskier is pulled out of his jumper, his clothes falling to the floor like autumn leaves. He boldly takes the bottom of Geralt’s shirt and pulls it off of him, revealing those pecs he’s been drooling over for four months.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous, what the fuck?” Jaskier whines, leaning in and attacking his chest and shoulders with kisses, his fingers leaving sharp little divots in his skin. Geralt groans and buries his hand in Jaskier’s hair.

“This okay?” Geralt rumbles. Jaskier nods and looks up at him as he laves his tongue against a perfect stupid nipple. Jaskier nods and gives him a kiss. So long as he doesn’t  _ talk _ about the strange marks on his scalp, they’ll be fine.

Geralt seems rather more focused on getting Jaskier out of his pants, tossing him onto the bed with a bounce. “Hm, this place seems familiar…” Jaskier teases, grinning up at him.

“Does it now?” Geralt grins. A pierced eyebrow raises high. They’ve been here before. Jaskier feels at home like this, laid out under Geralt’s hands, reflecting his smirk right back at him. “Don’t want you getting tired of me, sexy.”

Geralt crawls over Jaskier’s body, pressing his weight against him. “I just wanna eat you up, you’re so cute like this. Look at that flush, feel what it’s doing to me,” he finishes speaking by grinding his hips down against Jaskier, the hard lines of their cocks pressing together. They groan into each other’s mouths.

“Wanna get my mouth on you,” Jaskier whines, squirming around underneath him. His hands come up to Geralt’s sides, dragging the guitar-roughened ends of his fingertips down along that massive tattoo. Geralt gives a full-body shiver. “I wanna taste you again.”

“Since you’re asking so pretty for me,” Geralt says and rolls off, divesting himself of his sweats the same time Jaskier does. Their bare bodies press together again, hot and slick with sweat. Jaskier bends over on the bed and works Geralt’s cock in his hand for a bit, licking and kissing at the drooling, leaking slit. Geralt pets his hand over Jaskier’s head, humming his approval.

When Jaskier bobs his head deeper, Geralt’s hips stutter a little, forcing his cock back a little more. He rushes to apologize, but Jaskier’s already moaning louder. He  _ likes _ that, Geralt realizes. “You want me to fuck your mouth? Fuck your throat? Get that pretty voice all raw and ruined?”

Jaskier moans again, and Geralt takes hold of his head, pistoning his hips, the head brushing the back of his throat. Jaskier grips his hips at some point, stilling him before he forces his head all the way down, taking him deep. Geralt gives a strangled shout, not coming by the slimmest of margins. Jaskier is almost  _ grinning _ around the length, pulling off with a slick, obscene noise and heaving breaths. “Fucking  _ fuck, _ Jaskier.”

“I want you to come in my mouth,” Jaskier pants, licking a hot trail up his cock again.

“Fucking hell, yeah, I wanna do that.” Geralt gets back into the rhythm, hitting the back of Jaskier’s throat every time. The wet noises his throat makes as it’s forced open makes Geralt’s eyes cross. He’s helpless to try and stop his orgasm. “I’m—”

Jaskier hums and dives down deep again. Geralt shouts, his body tensing all over for several long seconds before he melts back against the bed, boneless. Jaskier licks up every last drop of come Geralt gives him, swallowing it down like a good little slut. Jaskier comes up and kisses Geralt again, moaning when Geralt gets a hand around his own cock. With a few hard pumps from his fist, Jaskier’s coming, spilling all over Geralt’s chest and whining through cries of Geralt’s name.

They collapse back onto the bed, groaning. “I like your room,” Jaskier says, his voice just as wrecked and raspy as Geralt had promised it would be.

“Thanks,” Geralt says, nuzzling against his neck. “I’m sure I’ll like your room when it’s done too.” He presses a kiss to the soft skin above Jaskier’s pulse.

“I look forward to breaking in the bed when it comes.”

“Dibs,” Geralt grumbles into his neck, before attacking him with kisses.

After a shower and some borrowed underwear, they snuggle in for bed, and Jaskier’s never felt more content to dream.


	4. manicuriosity

Jaskier’s furniture arrives in the form of several very strong women carrying several very large boxes up the stairs the next morning. There’s already power drilling and painting going on in the empty room designated for Jaskier, and Vesemir is very busy speaking with the woman they met at the boutique earlier that week.

The fifth time he has to sidestep another very large package, he gives up and knocks on Lambert’s door. He has jeans on, shirt off, and clearly had just gotten out of the shower, by the look of his damp hair and  _ (god damn it) _ actually glistening abs. “Hey, sugar!”

“Can I hide in here?” Jaskier asks, fidgeting in the doorway. “Please?” Lambert opens the door wider so he can duck in. His stupid fucking muscles are stupid and fucking beautiful.

Lambert’s room is Jaskier’s favorite place in the penthouse. It has the same views as Vesemir’s bedroom, it’s always warm, and Lambert is always welcoming of his presence in there. “What’s eatin’ you?” Lambert says around a toothbrush.

“I’m really nervous around expensive things,” Jaskier admits. “I can’t  _ be _ anywhere without being reminded of how much money Vesemir probably wasted on me.”

He hums in contemplation. After spitting out his toothpaste, Lambert flops down on the bed with him. “Spent, but not wasted. Would you have wanted him to move in your furniture from your old apartment?” Jaskier shakes his head immediately. “Furniture is one of those things, you know. I didn’t realize I wasn’t poor anymore until I realized I owned a  _ console table.” _ He points to the offending piece, stickered up like a skate deck. It’s a hard juxtaposition from the IKEA-esque nightstand nearby, which Jaskier knows is around eight dollars.

“You grew up poor?” Jaskier asks, looking back at him. Lambert sniffs a little and shrugs.

“A lil. Everyone’s got circumstances. Geralt and Eskel both have like. Three hundred thousand search results on google apiece. Wouldn’t risk looking, though. They get weird when you talk about their pasts.”

_ They’re not the only ones. Deflect much, Lambert? _

“I like to think of myself as the most well-adjusted of them all. We’re all fucked up, even Vesemir, but they’re letting their demons live rent-free on their shoulders. Therapy gives you a bug zapper. Or citronella. Weird metaphor. Whatever. That make sense?”

“I...think so? I’ve never gone to therapy before. You like it though? The others haven’t really told me anything about the health plan or—” Jaskier makes an aborted motion that could either mean ‘the finer points of paperwork which binds me sexually to you four’ or ‘if you don’t put on a shirt, Lambert, I’m going to hump your leg because I don’t have any braincells left to spare’. Could be either of them. Who knows. Certainly not Jaskier

“Why don’t you come with me?” Lambert suggests, finding the meaning in Jaskier’s meaningless one-person game of charades.

“What? To therapy? I’m not on the—” Lambert cuts him off by kissing him quiet. It’s a lot more infuriating on some levels than Jaskier always romantically envisioned such an action to be.

“I meant,” Lambert says, pulling back. “That instead of hiding out in the apartment, you could come with me to my appointment, read in the lobby, meet Linda and ask her however many questions she can answer between sessions, and then…” Lambert kisses down his neck distractedly. Distractingly. Bastardly.

“And then what?” Jaskier asks, putting his hands on Lambert’s shoulders but not pushing him away.

“I have a standing spa appointment after therapy. I’m sure we can fit you in.” He’s grinning at his double-meaning. Jaskier rolls his eyes.

“Spa?”

* * *

Lambert’s therapist works out of a renovated firehouse, turned into a multi-use office space. Jaskier entertains himself on the fire pole for at least fifteen minutes while Lambert’s inside with his doctor. The picture of himself hanging off of the firepole is met with many emojis from Geralt, most of which make him blush furiously for the remainder of the session.

When Lambert walks out, there’s a very short woman trailing behind him. She’s blonde, and very pretty, and has a no-nonsense air about her that tells Jaskier she’s perfect for Lambert. “Jaskier, this is Dr. Linda.”

They shake hands. “It’s nice to meet you!” Jaskier says, still bright-eyed from his fun time earlier.

“Lambert told me you have some questions about the therapy offered on the insurance plan?”

“Oh, well, yes, of course. But also just in general? I’m uh. New to all this.” Jaskier pushes a hand through his hair nervously.

“Well, I’m not sure we can answer all of your questions, but the insurance covers at minimum one 50-minute session a week, medication and treatment plans, and access to a wide range of resources we have available. Even if you don’t end up comfortable with one of our specialists in my office, from what I understand of your coverage, you’ll be pretty well taken care of wherever you go.”

Jaskier nods. “Could I email you if my brain catches up to think of any questions?”

“Of course!”

In the car, Jaskier turns to Lambert with a huge smile. “I like Linda. She’s very nice.”

“It’s a miracle that she is,” Lambert says, shooting him a smile of his own between traffic lights. “She is one of the most patient people I know, and the reason I’m studying psychology. Wanna know more about what this fucked up hunk of think meat is doing.”

Jaskier bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop giggling until they get to the spa. It’s deep in a rich neighborhood, at the top of a winding hill. “It doesn’t look like much right now, but you can see the penthouse from up here,” Lambert says. “On a clear day it’s like the only thing keeping you from home are wings.”

Jaskier kisses his cheek for that.

Inside, they are handed some clipboards with a list of services. Just like Vesemir did with the menu at the restaurant, Lambert plucks the paper away from Jaskier before he can balk at the cost. Smart move. “You’ve been to a spa before?” Lambert asks, already ticking off several boxes. “Get massages, facials, treatments, ever?”

“Not...really.” Triss, Yen, and Jaskier had held ‘spa nights’ which mostly consisted of cucumber vodka and painting their toes with a clay mask on. This place…is definitely not humble about what they do. “I usually get waxed when I can afford it.” Lambert grins. “Right. Suppose I can, now.”

They finalize some plans and hand the boards in, drinking expensive bottled water and talking about nothing. The technicians come out, all smiles when they see Lambert, who gives them cheek kisses and introduces them to Jaskier. He seems to know everybody.

They’re led to a locker room, where Lambert tells him to put a towel around his waist, because “We gotta steam first.”

The sauna is empty on a Wednesday morning like this. Jaskier decides he wants to live here forever. “You’re happy,” Lambert observes, adding more water to the hot coals. He looks over, not bothering to keep his towel secure around his waist, leaving his Adonis belt suggestively teasing.

“I like the warm.” Jaskier realizes he’s sounds stupid and tries again. “I never really get to do stuff like this.”

“Well, there’s a sauna in the penthouse, it’s next to the gym if you ever wanted to indulge at home.”

“I think I’ve been doing quite a bit of at-home indulgences,” Jaskier says saucily.

“You don’t know the half of it, sugar.”

From the sauna they go to a soaking room, and without any other guidance, Jaskier joins him there. It’s just as deliciously warm as the sauna, but the massaging jets against his back and feet feel divine. “You know, I think luxury suits you. You don’t take it for granted.”

“I’m afraid it’s all going to be snatched away the second I trip up, is all.”

Lambert’s silence makes Jaskier open his eyes, looking over to the man where he’s contemplating the current rippling below the smooth surface. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that, sugar. My guess is one of us fucks up first.”

“But—”

“We’re complacent in our lives. We’re gonna have to fit you into that. Any growing pains you have, we’re probably gonna feel double. We haven’t had a fourth before, you see.” There’s a darkness to his tone that tells Jaskier he should drop it, no matter how curious he is.

After rinsing off from the bath (what Lambert says was a hot sake soak, to Jaskier’s eternal bewilderment) the two technicians they’d met at the front retrieve them from the locker room sitting area, and direct them to a dim, but peaceful room. The air is warm but not stifling, and it’s quiet but not unnerving. “Massage?” Jaskier guesses. Lambert gives him a kiss on the cheek.

An hour later, he’s thoroughly melted into the table, and couldn’t help the noises he’d been making the whole session. He practically floats to the seat where he’s to get a facial, and when he meets Lambert’s eyes, there’s not a hint of unease between them. Jaskier has never felt this way before, never felt so deeply for another, never felt so taken care of, never had his feelings validated the way he has since coming to the penthouse.  _ Thank you, _ he mouths to Lambert, feeling tears in his eyes, not for the first time since all this happened.

Lambert blows him a kiss back, and makes him blush.

When they get back in their clothes and have paid for the services at the front, Lambert realizes he’s forgotten his phone in the lockers, so Jaskier stands a little awkwardly at the desk. While he’s waiting for Lambert, a man comes up and taps him on the shoulder. Jaskier looks up at him. “Uh, hi.”

“Hello. What’s your name?”

Jaskier kind of startles at his forwardness. He’s older, dressed in a fancy suit, with gunmetal gray glasses that sit before steely gray eyes. His hair falls in a chic, yet relaxed manner around his eyes. At Jaskier’s hesitance, the man continues.

“My name is Derek Manchester, I do recruitment for a...talent agency, of sorts. I was just thinking that you are  _ stunning, _ and I think you’d do exceptionally well at—”

“Oh, hey Der’.” Lambert comes up behind Jaskier and wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him back a little. Derek looks between the two of them, and his suave expression drops into one of exasperated horror as he comes to a realization.

“Of  _ course _ he’s with you. Don’t tell Vesemir I tried recruiting you into his porn empire, I don’t need my boss to  _ laugh _ at me again.” Jaskier is bewildered by his words. He was just almost recruited into  _ what? _

“Yeah, well, we got him first, didn’t we Jas.” Lambert kisses the top of his head, his eyes not leaving Derek once, like he’s watching a cobra. “We gotta go. Toodles.”

“Uh, bye?” Jaskier says over his shoulder as Lambert drags him to the car.

The second the doors close, Jaskier blurts out,  _ “PORN EMPIRE?” _

Lambert laughs. “You haven’t been around as long, you haven’t seen the writing on the walls yet.” He starts the car and pulls back out onto the highway.

“Are you—are we? Are we being recorded for the internet?!”

Lambert’s face goes solemn. “No. Vesemir would never do that. He’s a very professional man. If you hadn’t found out from old Derek in there, you would have probably only known about the club and nothing else.” Jaskier’s shocked again at the serious tone he takes about it. He must have hit close to home on something. Most of the drive back to the Morhen Building is spent in silence. Jaskier only speaks up again when they’ve parked.

“I’m sorry, it’s just. What porn empire? And they just, they do recruiting at ritzy day spas?”

“Hey, come here, it’s alright.” Lambert pulls him in for a hug, grounding him again from his panic spiral. “Listen, Vesemir probably won’t talk business with you, but if what Derek did made you uncomfortable, just talk to him. He’ll hear you out no matter what if you’re upset. That being said, the man’s a mogul. He’s been in the industry for like thirty years and knows what he’s doing. You can take it on  _ my _ word that there’s nothing hinky going on at HQ or in any of his other businesses.”

Jaskier gives another wary look, and then slowly nods. “Okay. If you say so.”

“Seeing him sleaze onto you is driving me fucking crazy,” Lambert says, raking his hand through his hair. “C’mere.”

Jaskier’s pulled into a hard kiss, one that hits the ground running, so to speak. The center console is flipped back and Jaskier’s pulled into Lambert’s lap with a squeak. Lambert moves the seat back for more room and pushes his hands up Jaskier’s shirt, gliding over smooth skin, relaxed muscles. Jaskier lets out a gasp when Lambert kisses down to his collarbone. “Look at you, sugar, so sweet for everyone. Could find you in the window of a candy shop, huh? Too bad for everyone else you’re already ours.”

Jaskier groans and straddles his lap. There are a few tense seconds of waiting while the automatic seat recliner does its thing, but the second Lambert is mostly stretched out, he dives back in. Lambert’s hands rid Jaskier of his shirt and jacket, while Jaskier goes for his belt and fly. Jaskier kneels down into the footwell of the drivers’ side and pulls out his cock, looking up at Lambert and licking his lips.

“You look good down there, sugar. Go on, get your mouth on me.  _ Thaaat’s _ right.”

Lambert’s hands tighten in Jaskier’s hair and he groans when Jaskier goes down on him. He swears again as Jaskier goes to work, bobbing his head and licking teasingly at the slit. He plays with Lambert’s balls, loving how he can pull those noises from the other man. He pulls off. “You have stuff in this car?”

“There’s stuff everywhere, Jaskier. You wanna fuck in here?” Jaskier nods happily and they scramble to the back seat, where Jaskier squirms out of his jeans and shoes delightedly. True to form, Lambert pulls out a condom, towel, and lube packet from out of nowhere.

“Unbelievable,” Jaskier huffs. “I wanna ride you. That okay?”

“More than, sugar,” Lambert grins, settling into a comfy position. “Come here, let me get you ready, you just relax for me, hm?”

“I can definitely do that,” Jaskier winks. Lambert brings his hands, lube-slicked and talented, to slide along the cleft of Jaskier’s ass. It makes him shiver with anticipation. He bites his lip around a soft noise when Lambert finally get to his hole, teasing in and out the barest amount, making sure he’s absolutely dripping before pushing a finger in.

“So tight for me, gonna fill you up, you like that?” Lambert latches his mouth onto his neck, growling into his skin. He adds another finger.

“Please!” Jaskier begs, rocking his hips eagerly down on Lambert’s hand. “Please, I want more…”

“You’ll get more, don’t worry,” Lambert chuckles.

They roll together, the squeak of the leather seats drowned out by their soft moans and noises. Jaskier gives an impatient huff.

“You gonna put your dick in me or are we just staying like this?”

Lambert grins. “As you wish.” They roll the condom onto Lambert’s cock. He makes a confused noise when Jaskier turns around, facing the windshield as he lowers himself down onto his prick. “Oh, you wanna ride like that, huh?”

Jaskier doesn’t say anything in response, only moaning loudly, the noise bouncing off the windows and tight quarters of the car. Lambert fills him deep like this, and he has to remind himself there’s more to it than just sinking down. Single-minded with focus, he starts to move. Lambert’s hands stay on his hips, guiding him up and down, a sliver of his strength keeping Jaskier’s legs from giving out.

“Ffffuck, Jas,” Lambert moans and trails his hands up Jaskier’s ribs, thrusting his hips up on Jaskier’s downstroke. Jaskier squeaks in surprise, moaning at the feeling. “You’re gonna make me come like this,” he says.

“I certainly -  _ ohhh please please please right there _ \- h-hope so…”

Lambert concentrates on dragging as many of those precious noises from Jaskier’s lips, teasing at the sensitive skin of his hipbones and brushing bare whispers of touch over his straining cock.

“Lambert—!” Jaskier cries out, his movements stuttering as his orgasm starts to knock demandingly at the door. Lambert digs his heels into the carpet and works Jaskier up and down while he slams up into him. He’s sweating and sliding on the seat, but straining for release. Jaskier cries out again, a broken moan, and he comes into his hand. The spasmic fluttering of Jaskier’s insides pulls Lambert over as well, and he wraps his arms around Jaskier’s middle, holding him close as he comes.

Once their breathing evens out, Jaskier groans. “I made a mess.” Lambert just laughs.

“Don’t worry about it. Vesemir gets the cars detailed if we so much as cough in them. C’mon. Cuddle.”

* * *

Jaskier sits in his newly-furnished room, admiring it.

He’d gotten his four-poster canopy bed, with light, fluttery curtains decorating the rails. Fairy lights behind it on the wall light up the area rather nicely, and would be perfect for reading or a romantic atmosphere. There’s some large, colorful shelves, all bare except for the binder, on the wall between the curved windows, looking like a fountain as the shelves get higher. He has visions of plants and books and knick-knacks filling the space up.

In the corner where the massive windows meet, Jaskier can see the pool, its cover rippling a little where the wind picks up. His massive L-shaped desk is just what he asked for, large enough to work at and make a mess. He decidedly does  _ not _ look at the brand-new computer set up on the desk, because if he stares at it for too long he feels itchy.

And the rocking chair. He already knew after the first time he sat in it, that it’d be a perfect place for him to rest, to read, to play guitar, to really do anything, and the cushions are comfy and soft enough for naps. He looks it all over, still feeling it’s a little bare, a little lacking in his own personality.  _ Maybe that’s just because you’re lacking in personality. _

But that’s something to sleep on.

* * *

The next day Jaskier decides to confront Vesemir about his business. He makes his move after breakfast, when Vesemir usually goes up to his office.

When he wanders in, he tries to look as unassuming as he can, which is not very much at all.

“Can I help you, bunny?”

_ Caught. _

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about paperwork.”

“You seek very interested in the most boring aspects of what this arrangement is,” Vesemir says, leaning back in his chair. Jaskier takes a seat in the chair across from him. “I’ve shared your limits with the others, they all understand and agree to them.”

That is unexpected to hear. “They have?”

“Of course. It’s easy enough to play around them, and no one likes a kink enough to risk harming you just to get what they want.” Vesemir takes his glasses off. “And even if you decide something can leave or be added to your limits, the contract is fluid, subject to change in many areas.”

“I didn’t know that.” Jaskier folds his hands in his lap.

“Were you expecting chains, whips, personal trainers, forced birth control?” Vesemir smirks, typing simultaneously.

“No,” Jaskier laughs. “Just...it’s quite rigid, or at least I’d expected it to be.”

“Even if you wanted all the things in there as they were, there’s enough flexibility for comfort. You’ll be able to negotiate when the end of the trial comes.”

Jaskier nods, thinking a bit before speaking again. “What kinds of jobs can I do at the club?” he asks. “I’m meant to work one day a week, right?”

“Well, there are a lot of staff positions. I don’t want you working janitorial, but if you can mix drinks, serve drinks, run interference, take orders, I think you’ll do fine.”

Jaskier blanches. “Uh.”

“You don’t know how to mix drinks?” Vesemir says, amused.

“I can uh. Pour?” Vesemir laughs at Jaskier’s bashful expression.

“Don’t worry, bunny. We’ll find something for you. Just don’t worry about it tomorrow. That’s for dancing and fun.”

Jaskier smiles. Vesemir smiles back.

“What about your other business?”

Vesemir stops smiling.

“Which?” he asks, tone neutral.

“Well, he asked that I not tell you, but I ran into a partner of yours at the spa with Lambert yesterday? Derek Manchester?”

Vesemir sits very, very still.

“And what did he say we do?”

“He said something about a porn empire?”

Vesemir shuts his eyes and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “He tried recruiting you, didn’t he?”

“He said he didn’t mean anything by it! And Lambert was right there to uh, rescue me? I think?”

“Bunny, please know I don’t intend for you to work for me, not like that. The contract and what Lambert jokes about me being his boss is just that, jokes. I’m sure the contract makes me as uncomfortable as it does for you. As far as I consider it, you are my bunny, and just living with the rest of my boys.”

He looks tired, Jaskier realizes. He takes the brushoff with grace, though, standing and kissing his cheek with a “Thank you, Daddy,” before leaving.

He has a lot to think about.


	5. the collection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This is also tied in as my prompt for Day 26 of Kinktober: Vibrators/Sex Toys! You can find all of my prompts from this month and more at the collection I’ve added this whole fic to, Witcher Kinktober Ring, which I’m doing with my very good friends anarchycox and whataboutthefish. Go check them out!! ❤️

Still a little miffed about his conversation with Vesemir, Jaskier goes downstairs again and lazes about in his room for a few hours, before the unopened new computer taunts him into leaving.

He decides to go read in the library, a better association with the room than when he was writing out his limits. In addition to the books on business, coding, and filmmaking, there’s quite a number of books on photography, and art, and travel, and one inexplicable book on pandas. He pulls down a book about Greek architecture, curling up in a chair and leafing through it.

Around the time he grows bored with it, there’s a flash of white hair moving past the glass door.  _ Geralt. _ He knows he’s probably headed to the gym, as it’s right next to the library, though with the soundproofing in the room, he probably would never have known.

His curiosity is sparked, though. He’s never seen Geralt work out before, and wonders exactly what he looks like covered in sweat, muscles bulging, skin flushed. He adjusts himself in his pants before sneaking out the door quietly.

When he pokes his head into the gym area, he frowns in confusion. Geralt’s nowhere to be seen. There’s even music playing, some high-tempo dance song in what he thinks is German.

The second he peers around the corner to where the sauna and the showers are, he realizes it was a trap. He squeaks loudly as he’s picked up by the shoulders, and carried across the room to the mirrored walls. Geralt’s grinning in his face, his hair pulled back off his neck. When his back meets the cool mirror, Geralt purrs, “Gotcha.”

Jaskier, manhandled and very much enjoying it, only breathes out a moan in response, half-giggled and delighted. Geralt kisses him against the wall, his hands everywhere at once, stripping him of his shirt in an instant. Jaskier urges Geralt’s shirt and shorts off, wanting more, now, in me, please.

Geralt obeys, pulling the padded bench over for Jaskier to kneel on, facing the mirror. From seemingly out of nowhere, Geralt produces a bottle of lube, the same brand the whole fucking penthouse is stocked with, in addition to the cars. “How many hidden compartments for lube are there?” Jaskier whines needily, pressing his ass up higher.

“I’m sure we could find a couple together on accident,” Geralt breathes against his shoulder blades. Jaskier whines against the cool glass, fogging it up with his breathy noises. Geralt’s lips are pressed against his skin the whole time he opens Jaskier up, though their eyes meet in the mirror every time he looks up.

Jaskier is rather excited to be claimed like this, caught and pinned like prey. He rocks his ass back on Geralt’s fingers, whimpering needily. Geralt only chuckles, calling him greedy and giving him a firm spank to his rear after three fingers.

At the first press in of Geralt’s prick, Jaskier’s eyes roll back. Oh, how long he’s wanted this. That morning in the shower, in his bed, it was all he wanted until he was put on his hands and knees before Eskel. Even a few nights ago, just with hands and mouths, he’d longed for more. “Please,” Jaskier breathes, hands coming up to rest on the mirror, pushing himself backwards on Geralt’s cock.

“Easy there, easy...” Geralt’s voice sounds a little strained as he takes his time, lowering Jaskier down onto him. He takes a few steps forward and anchors an arm around Jaskier’s waist, holding him up like that.

They lock eyes in the mirror again, panting but otherwise quiet under the bump of music. Jaskier can hardly hear it over the rush of blood in his ears, the throbbing of want in his bones. Geralt starts them on a slow, steady pace. It’s just enough to tease, dangling satisfaction just a few scant inches out of reach. Jaskier tries to keep his wanton noises to himself, knowing the high ceilings on this floor echo much louder than the ones upstairs.

But even he has a limit to his composure.

After a few long,  _ long _ minutes at that slow, almost exploratory pace, Jaskier keens and lets his head fall forward, stuck in the iron grasp of Geralt’s arms. “Please,” he begs.

“Please what?” Geralt purrs in his ear, nibbling on the lobe and teasing the other piercings with his tongue.

“Please fuck me, please please want you, I’ve wanted you so long, please.”

Geralt buries his face in Jaskier’s neck with a groan, hips stuttering on their own accord. Jaskier matches his noise with one of his own, eyes fluttering shut. The pace picks up, so much that the snap of Geralt’s powerful hips drives him fully against the mirror, squashed up to it. He makes a little indignant noise for a moment before Geralt adjusts his angle and manages to press at least another inch into him.

“Fuck!” Jaskier sobs, scrabbling at the smooth surface. His dick is drooling onto the mats beneath them, and he can’t help the little thrill of pleasure that comes from feeling trapped, like this. Geralt would never hurt him, and that trust lets him fall into the fantasy. “You just gonna take me? Whenever you want? Trick me round a corner and bend me over? Fuck me on the stairs if I pass you by?”

Geralt groans and gnaws on his shoulder, licking up the bites with sloppy kisses. “Feel so fucking good, Jaskier.”

“Say my name again,” Jaskier pleads.

“You want me to say your name, Jaskier? You want me to—look at me,” Geralt puts a hand on his jaw, forcing his head up so they can meet gazes. Jaskier’s expression is already entirely fucked out, just absolutely wrecked at the moment. “Oh, Jaskier, I’m gonna do all that and more. You’re gonna hardly remember your name unless it’s on my tongue. You’ll still have enough brains left to beg for my cock.”

Jaskier almost shouts a moan. “Keep talking I’m gonna come,” he whines.

“You wanna come, Jaskier? Beg for it.”

Jaskier shivers all over at the command, head spinning with it. “P-please,  _ oh right there, right there please, _ please let me come, please Geralt, please I want to so bad, do anything, let me—”

“Fuck,” Geralt bites out harshly, pulling his hips closer and pressing their bodies together. His hand wraps around Jaskier’s prick and with a few hard pumps of his fist, Jaskier’s coming onto the mirror, back arched beautifully, mouth formed in a perfect little O.

His body shakes through his release, eyes unfocused and rolling around everywhere, like he can’t concentrate. That blissed-out look is what does Geralt in. With a few more hard thrusts, he spills into Jaskier’s ass, one final drawn-out groan of his name pulled from him.

They sit back on the bench together, collapsed from their exertion. Jaskier makes an uncomfortable noise when Geralt’s come starts to leak out his hole, but Geralt’s there with a towel in the next moment, pressing kisses to his chest and neck. Jaskier giggles, a little ticklish, until he gets Geralt’s mouth. They blink at each other silently, just happy expressions on their faces. “I liked that,” Jaskier says, biting on his lip.

To his surprise, Geralt flushes a little. “I’m glad.”

They shower in the gym showers, Geralt’s workout long forgotten, and hang out in the living room, cuddled up and napping for a few hours. Lunch and dinner pass smoothly. Apparently literally everyone heard their activities in the gym, but Jaskier finds himself not minding in the slightest. At least they know he’s happy. He floats up to his room, pleasantly tipsy from the wine Lambert had selected with dinner. He gets a kiss goodnight from everyone and flops onto his bed, luxuriating in the soft blankets on top.

However, the soap from the shower facilities doesn’t let his mind relax, and he rolls over with a groan. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the edge of the bathtub in his bathroom. Two minutes of searching later reveals some bubble bath, candles, and a bath bomb.

“Fuckin’  _ score.” _ Jaskier strips and fills the tub. He’s able to get it fairly full, which has him practically shouting in delight when he slips in up to his neck.

The flickering lights, the dark and sultry atmosphere, the silky feeling of the oils in the bath, he’s absolutely been here before. Albeit, it was in a much smaller bathtub, he could only afford dollar-store candles, and he shared a bath with Mr. Bubble. There was one thing he was missing, though. He realizes it right at the time the bath starts to grow lukewarm.

_ Fuck, I left my stupid vibe at the apartment. _

He pouts, his bath suddenly  _ ruined _ by the lack of his stupid, half-dead vibrator in his stupid half-frozen apartment. “God fucking damn it. Fucking ugh. I hate. FUCK.”

He’s rather dramatic about things when he’s horny.

So it’s with a high blush on his cheeks and a semi hidden under a plush blue towel that he climbs the stairs to Vesemir’s suite, still half-dripping, and barges into his office.

Vesemir had heard him angrily stomping up the stairs, and had already been wrapping up an evening of end-of-week emails. He steeples his fingers to hide his amused smile, looking Jaskier up and down. “Something wrong, bunny?”

“No. Yes. Oh, this was stupid. I’m sorry, I. Sorry.” He turns to leave.

“Jaskier.”

He stops in his tracks and blinks at him. “Do you,” he starts slowly. “Have a um. A toy I could use?” He chews prettily at his lower lip. Vesemir’s eyes trace a water droplet as it races over the faint bitemark Geralt left that afternoon.

“Of course. I’ve wanted to show you the Collection for a while.”

The Collection, of course, is set just inside a hidden cabinet by Vesemir’s bed, which he unlocks with a fucking  _ passcode. _ Jaskier  _ gawks _ at what’s inside.

His first thought is  _ well, that’s more organized than shoving a vibe in a drawer and hoping Triss doesn’t find it. _ His second thought is a mix of vowels and dial-up screech noises which I won’t attempt to recreate for you here.

On red silk-lined trays, four high waist-up and four drawers on the way down, there’s about seven thousand dollars worth of sex toys that Jaskier can see. All manner of wands, vibrators, prostate massagers, at least a dozen  _ regular _ looking dildos, several ‘novelty’ shaped dildos to include an Academy Award, knotted dildos, ribbed-texture dildos, glass dildos, plugs ranging in size from a middle finger to one so big it makes Jaskier’s head spin, a sheath with a fucking  _ fur tail _ attached to it, masturbation sheaths, cock rings,  _ vibrating _ cock rings, bondage tape, leather restraints, lengths of rope on hooks, clamps, blindfolds and gags, floggers and whips, and some very nicely-labeled  _ gallons of lube _ lining one side. And that’s just what he can  _ see. _

“What is cum lube?”

“I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for tonight.” Vesemir chuckles. “How about…” He plucks a sleek-looking prostate massager from one of the unlabeled drawers. “You show me what you want to do with this?”

Jaskier flushes, his dick giving another twitch under the towel. “I’d like that.”

Vesemir follows him into his room, taking a seat in the rocking chair after pulling it closer to the bed. Jaskier ends up on his knees, one cheek pressed into a pillow, the rest of his body on display for Vesemir.

“Don’t worry about showing off for me. I want to watch you play with yourself, bunny.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Jaskier breathes, closing his eyes and remembering the relaxed feeling in the bath. He sighs and rolls on his back. He’s a little nervous to literally perform for someone else, but Vesemir just wants him, doing what feels good.

What feels good.

Alright.

He’s got this.

Slowly, he lets his hands wander his body, lighting up his nerves with interest at each teasing pass over his nipples. He spends a few moments indulging himself, tugging and playing with the piercings there, biting down a moan as he squirms. Vesemir doesn’t tell him to not hide his moans, doesn’t say anything. He likes keeping his noises to himself every once in a while, though.

Jaskier lets his legs fall open on the bed, and there’s a slightly sharp inhale from Vesemir’s direction, but Jaskier doesn’t pay any mind. He continues teasing himself, getting more into it as he goes. He outlines the hard line of his cock, fingers barely brushing against the sensitive skin. He shudders as he presses under his cockhead, a rush of feeling counteracting the light touches and making him squeal a little, happy with the feeling.

He attempts to calm himself, putting in for the long haul for his little show. He takes in the feeling of the bed beneath him, sturdy and soft all at once, the sweat on his brow making him shiver under the fan. He swallows, and the noise sounds loud, almost embarrassingly so.

By the time he gets to actually touching himself, he’s worked himself up enough that he’s making little whimpering mewls in the back of his throat, his lower lip chewed swollen and throbbing with his heartbeat. He takes a moment to break out of his fantasy and coat his fingers in lube. A quick check makes sure Vesamir is still there, his eyes filled with fire though his body stays still.

He rolls to his side, arching to get a better angle at himself. The first touch of his slick fingers against his hole make him suck in a breath. He’s still aching from when Geralt took him in the gym that morning, but the burn in his muscles feels intoxicating, reminding him of the pleasure they shared. He starts with two fingers, drawing another sharp breath from Vesemir. He has to fight to hide his smug grin. The unflappable Vesemir, brought to heel by a slutty twink that passed out on him on Halloween.

Vesemir doesn’t urge him any slower or any faster, though, just observing, the force of his gaze sending Jaskier’s skin tingling and burning as he opens himself up enough to get the toy inside. He’s struck with indecision, then.

_ Fuck, how do I use this? _

“Daddy?” Jaskier whispers.

“Yes, bunny,” Vesemir says, voice shaking only a little. Jaskier’s not much better off.

“I don’t know how to use this.”

“Would you like me to help, or do you want to figure it out yourself?”

Jaskier bites his lip again, thinking.

“I um. Maybe help?”

“I can do that.” Vesemir rises from the chair and takes the few steps forward that had been separating them. Jaskier can see his hard-on straining in his trousers. He hadn’t even taken himself out. “May I?” Jaskier nods and lets go of the toy, making it bounce a bit inside of him.

Vesemir takes control, gently working it in and out of his body for a bit, getting him used to it. Jaskier grasps the sheets, sucking in a moan before he can let it out. When the toy presses firmly against his prostate, he keens, high and sharp. “There you go, bun,” Vesemir praises. “I’m going to turn it on for you.”

“Okay.”

He’s not prepared for the onslaught of sensation that comes when it starts to vibrate against him. He shivers into a position that’s almost flat, his knees and elbows giving out instantly. “F-fuck, that’s—”

“Powerful, hm?”

“Yes, please, pl-please don’t stop,” Jaskier begs. “I’m gonna come in three fucking seconds,” he giggles.

Vesemir runs a soothing hand down his back, his thumb rubbing circles into his lower back. He doesn’t let up, wiggling the massager back and forth over his prostate as it vibrates. Jaskier can’t get used to it, can’t adapt, and it steals his breath with every shockwave of pleasure that zaps through him.

“Daddy!” Jaskier chokes out, body seizing up as he comes, adding to the leaking mess that had been growing in a puddle beneath him on the blanket. He shakes and shakes through the aftershocks, legs splayed out behind him. He turns a tear-streaked face up to Vesemir. “Thank you,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Of course,” Vesemir kisses his forehead, and in the next few minutes cleans him up and tucks him into bed, the blanket with the wet spot set in the laundry. “Sleep well, bunny. Sweet dreams.”

“You sweet dreams, Daddy. You’re sweet dreams.” Jaskier’s asleep before the last syllable, a happy smile on his face.


	6. the party don't start til i walk in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. fucking vote, yall.

Friday morning is spent lazing around the penthouse with everyone else. According to Lambert, it’d been a bit since they’d had a proper club night, since Vesemir had been entrenched in other business recently. Vesemir, of course, hadn’t elaborated on what that ‘other business’ was, which sent guilty suspicion through Jaskier’s thoughts.

He’s not sure what he thinks about Vesemir being a big player in the porn industry. He resists just outright googling his name, knowing Vesemir would probably tell him what he wanted to know when he thought he was ready to hear it.

Probably.

Dinner is light that evening, and they drink cocktails instead of their usual wine. “This is the classiest pregaming I’ve ever been a part of.”

“Ah, fairest Jaskier, wouldst thou pass me the gin?” Eskel says.

“My dear Eskel, do you intend to drink straight from the vessel? How scandalous!” Jaskier smirks and passes the bottle over.

“Was there table etiquette like this at every evening meal, what a well-disciplined harem I’d have,” Vesemir mutters into his whiskey sour, making them all laugh.

After, all of them healthily buzzed, it comes as a surprise when Geralt points out that Jaskier has no club clothes. It starts a mad dash for their closets, each of them pulling clothes on and off of the young man with fervor. Jaskier rather feels like a doll, getting dressed how they like and modeling the looks for them.

“Maybe he needs to be in less.”

“Tear-away pants.”

“No, he’ll be cold. Jaskier can’t be cold.”

“What if we—”

“Yes.”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

“What if we what?” Jaskier asks, not following the conversation happening all around him.

“We know what you’re gonna wear.”

* * *

Jaskier ends up in a yellow crop top, pink jeans, and his trusty Converse. He’s wrapped in one of Eskel’s comfiest sweaters for the ride to the club, but he’s sure he would have been toasty warm without a stitch on him, draped as he is across his three new boyfriends in the backseat. Vesemir had only rolled his eyes at the antics, but the drive to the club from the penthouse is so short he allows it. 

He’s given a wristband when they walk in, bright blue with a dozen little V’s all over it. “Marking me as yours, Daddy?” Jaskier says cheekily.

Vesemir just gives him a smirk. “So what if I am?” He kisses the top of his head and pats his ass, sending him out onto the dancefloor.

Between the drinks and the dancing and the music and the movement, Jaskier is lost in the same haze that brought him to each of them.

(Well. Except Eskel. That was more of a coffee buzz.)

He sends his sluttiest thanks to the party gods and downs another shot.

He wouldn’t notice til the next morning, but the second some of his dance partners caught a glimpse of his blue wristband, they would make an excuse to push him toward someone else.

Out of dancing fuel but still in a partying mood, he makes it over to the VIP section, where the bouncer in front lets him in. Vesemir and Eskel are talking on the couch, not drinking but clearly engaged. Jaskier flops at Eskel’s side with a sigh, curling up with him.

“Hey, darling, partied out?”

“M’drunk. Sleeby.”

Eskel and Vesemir coo over him, getting him to drink some water and passing a comforting hand over his ass. “Think I want you warming my bed tonight,” Eskel says in his ear, making him shiver despite the heat of the club.

“Think I wanna be warmy bed.”

“Maybe we should wrap it up soon. He’ll get used to the hours by New Year’s Eve.”

“I’ll go find the others.”

* * *

It’s a blur between the club and the penthouse, most of it spent in someone’s arms. He gets kisses goodnight, and is laid down in a huge bed between two warm bodies before succumbing to sleep.

* * *

“I know you’ve missed me, boy.” Geralt shivers under the hand gliding over his side, where the tattoo cuts dark shapes through the paleness of his skin. “Seen it in your eyes for a week.”

Geralt stays quiet, knowing he didn’t need to speak right now, just feel. Sir always takes care of him when he needs it. As tipsy as he is from the club, he feels closer to floating into that happy place now than hours and hours of gentle domming could have. He wants to be Sir’s good boy, though, and knows he has to concentrate to do what He wants. Big golden eyes blink up at Sir, trying to convey gratitude without words, without sounds.

Sir is pleased. “Good boy. You just stay like that, alright? Gonna get you something nice.” He’s patient, waiting for Sir and not moving a single muscle while He goes to the cabinet to collect some toys for them to play with. He used to squirm in anticipation, untrained, and impatient with their scenes. As fast as city life is, Sir always managed to slow things down to a manageable speed, and showed him how to breathe deeper, how to cherish moments, and how to dream of the future instead of the past.

Sir returns with a fun little vibe and a plug. They’re going to have fun tonight. He can’t help the happy smile on his face when he sees the toys. A kiss to his forehead keeps the mood light. Sometimes Geralt needs to be smacked around and commanded, and nights like tonight, they just enjoy one another.

“You know you’re my good boy, right?”

“Yes, Sir,” Geralt breathes. He hadn’t heard that endearment in awhile, and as the noise of it rattles around his brain, his breath catches a bit.

“You want to feel good tonight?”

“Yes,  _ please, _ Sir.”

“Kneel at the bed, hands crossed behind you.” Geralt scrambles to follow the order, his knees burning against the carpet a little in his haste. His wrists rest together, how he was shown to do the very first weekend they spent together. He remembers that weekend fondly, having never felt anything like what Vesemir had given him.

It’d been structure, it’d been attention, it’d been choices, it’d been so many things Geralt probably could never thank him for in his entire life, so he obeyed and he was a good boy as his thanks. A gentle hand pushes into his hair, not pulling, just getting his attention again.

“You’re in your head again. What’s on your mind, boy?”

“Remembering our first weekend together, Sir.”

“Hmm,” Vesemir says, circling behind him and letting a strip of silk flutter over the backs of his calves. “Feeling like you need some reconditioning, or just reminiscing?”

A shiver runs through Geralt at the mention of retraining him. It hadn’t been on his mind, and he hadn’t felt like he’d needed to be retrained, but now that the thought is in his head, he can’t think of anything else. “Well, it  _ was _ just reminiscing, but...I think I’d like some training again, Sir.”

The hand turns a bit on his head, wrapping his hair up in a tail behind his head. The silk, originally intended for his wrists, coils around the white tresses, borne of stress and softened by care, and is secured by a pretty bow. He fights another shiver again, and knows he’s being trusted to keep his hands behind his back by his own will.

“Well, what will we train you on today…” Vesemir hums, stepping away from his trembling, excited boy. “Perhaps silence?” Geralt’s breath catches a little. “No, you’ve behaved yourself fairly well in that regard, especially with a new houseguest. What else…” Vesemir comes to a stop, stilling completely, ultra-silent yet imposing in his presence. “Well. It seems like you might need to learn how to fuck someone, I think. I’m sure Jaskier would appreciate it if you knew how to rail him into the atmosphere, instead of into the wall.”

Geralt gasps a moan and nods his head. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good. You wait there and think about what the first step’s going to be in this lesson, because it’s not going to be your hands, or your dick.” Vesemir stands up, and walks away from the bed. He’s trained Geralt well enough that he knows better than to move aside from comfort adjustments in a kneeling position.

Vesemir showers, and returns to the bedroom still naked. He’s half-hard already, the thought of tonight’s re-training enough to get even his disciplined hands wrapped around his length. His hair is back in the same style as Geralt’s, their usual uniform for these kinds of scenes. Vesemir stands between Geralt and the edge of the bed, and takes his chin in hand.

“What’s your word?” Vesemir asks softly.

“Mercy.”

“And your color?”

“Green.”

“Good boy.” Vesemir releases his chin and sits on the bed, watching him curiously. “What did you come up with, then. What’s the first step to fucking someone?”

“My mouth, Sir. I give them my mouth, wherever they want it.” Vesemir’s eyes smile, but his mouth remains the hard-set line it was before.

“Good answer. And I know I’ve already taught you how to eat a man out, so let’s see if that lesson has stuck.” Vesemir leans back on the bed and spreads his legs for Geralt to shuffle forward. His hand wraps around his cock, and Geralt’s hands stay behind his back.

Geralt’s breaths come in hot little pants as he lays kisses up Vesemir’s thighs. He’s well-acquainted with this position, here between Vesemir’s knees, and knows he likes a bit of a tease before getting to the main event. He ghosts his breath over Vesemir’s perineum, before leaning in and licking a hot, wet stripe over it. He sucks kisses, heavy and messy against Vesemir’s shower-damp skin, nosing over his balls and sucking one into his mouth. His clever tongue takes no quarter, and Vesemir, among the fleeting thoughts draining out his head, knows his mouth will be quite sore by the end of the night.

Vesemir grunts at the first touch of Geralt’s tongue against his hole. It’s certainly been a while, with the boys’ needs coming first before his own. He lets Geralt move without a hand on his head, seeing what he does without any guidance. He starts slow; gentle kisses over the swell of his ass, followed by that tongue over the tight furl of muscle. Geralt’s eyes are almost closed, as if he’s fallen into a meditative trance. He works his tongue in a gentle stroking motion over him until he finally relaxes enough to let just the tip of his tongue press in. The entire time, Vesemir makes soft noises of encouragement, of praise and half-bitten moans.

Geralt’s tongue is probably the softest part of him, despite the brattiness he’s prone to lashing out with. He works Vesemir open diligently, and so gently that it hardly feels like any time has passed between when he’s just able to push the tip of his tongue in and when he’s finally getting a good stretch going. Vesemir rests a hand on his head to still him, pushing him back. He’s a fucking  _ sight _ to behold, all flushed cheeks, red, swollen lips, and hazy eyes. “I’m glad you paid attention to that lesson,” Vesemir says before clearing his throat, a bit of horny breathlessness having slipped in. “Let’s see your handiwork, now.”

“Lube, Sir?” Geralt asks, not bothering to hide how much this has affected him. His blush goes all the way down his chest.

“Right. Yeah.” Vesemir shakes his head to clear it, and nods. “You may move your hands.” Geralt slowly brings his hands back around to the front, letting his shoulders relax from the previous position. He takes the bottle of lube from its place on the nightstand and returns to Vesemir’s instruction.

“What’s next, Sir?” Geralt whispers, his voice thick with desire.

“You’ll start with one, each and every time, even if they beg you for more. You will listen to me. You start with one and you make sure they’re relaxed. When you open Jaskier up next time, you’ll use your middle finger and it should be so slick he hardly feels it going into him. Show me how.”

Geralt nearly fumbles the cap at the mention of the other man, his imagination running away from him. He manages to coat one finger, like Vesemir had instructed, and shuffles forward again. Vesemir sits up a little, and scoots closer. “Go on,” he says.

Tentatively, Geralt brings his hand up to Vesemir’s hole, teasing it a little to spread the lube around him, before pushing in to the first knuckle, then back out again. Vesemir groans a little at the intrusion, still getting used to this. Geralt knows how special of a lesson this is, and he’s not going to fuck it up if he can help it. He repeats the motion until Vesemir is no longer clenching down on his lubed finger, and he can push it all the way in.

“Alright, enough of one. Slick up your index finger and give me two, one on top of the other to begin with. And stay away from my prostate.”

Geralt ducks his head to hide his grin, and does as he’s told, gladly. Geralt’s hands are not as slim and nimble as his tongue, however, and knows he has to take this slow. The two fingers go in easily, Vesemir’s body remembering at least this part. He takes them slow, appreciating the quite liberal amount of lube Geralt’s used for him. “Once you feel he can take it without any pain, go ahead and let your fingers stretch side-by-side but no more.” Geralt nods, practically nonverbal at this point, and keeps his hand position the same as he opens Vesemir up on his fingers.

Two fingers to three is a tricky bridge to cross, especially with Vesemir’s ass being out of practice to taking more than the odd prostate massager, these days. Geralt moves at the same glacially-attentive pace he’d been going, and a part of Vesemir knows Jaskier is going to be a screaming mess if Geralt takes this much time on prepping him.

_ Good. _

Once Vesemir feels he’s stretched and relaxed enough for a cock as big as Geralt’s, he rests a hand on Geralt’s forearm. The bedspread beneath his ass is absolutely drenched with lube, and his belly sports a rather impressive amount of precome. It’s messy, it’s perfect. Geralt’s eyes lock onto Vesemir’s, fingers poised at his rim but frozen the moment Vesemir’s hand touched his skin.

“Go ahead and pull your fingers out, slowly.” He can’t help the whine he gives when that empty feeling hits him. Geralt’s face crumples in concern, but Vesemir’s already speaking over him. “Now you’ve gotten me ready, but you need to get yourself ready too. What’s your color, Geralt?”

Geralt shivers at the use of his name, the scene breaking momentarily for the check-in. “G-green, Sir. Really really green.”

Vesemir huffs a laugh at his cheeky answer, relaxed enough to be amused. “Well then. Do I need to edge you down before we move on or can you control yourself?”

Geralt squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few deep breaths, wresting control back from his dick. “I’m ready, Sir.”

“You’re not ready to fuck until your dick is dripping with more lube than is in my ass, boy,” Vesemir says sharply. “Do it.”

Geralt bites off a whine and lubes his dick up, keeping it methodical and almost clinical.  _ This isn’t yours to play with, not here, boy. _ Vesemir’s reminder echoes in his head and calms him down. He looks up at Vesemir when he’s done as he’s told, still silent.

“Come closer,” Vesemir says. “You’ll go slow, you’ll only rock in a little at a time, the way you did with your first finger, with your second finger, with three. You only take what’s given, and you pull back when you meet resistance. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good, now go ahead.” Geralt straightens up and crawls over him, before guiding the head of his prick into Vesemir, the soft squelching noise making him feel lightheaded all of a second. He rocks his hips gently back and forth, giving Vesemir his cock little by little, as instructed. His eyes flick back and forth between Vesemir’s face and where the head of his cock has disappeared. “Don’t look up here, look down there. You’ll be able to feel it.”

Geralt gives a soft squeaking noise and bites his lip, concentrating as he watches his cock disappear inside of Vesemir. He’s fucking tight, even with all the work they did. The resistance comes just after Geralt presses another inch in, and he smoothly changes direction, pulling back out with a sinfully-perfect drag. He stutters a groan, and pushes back in again, just a little further this time before that clench down on him.

It goes like this, back and forth, his cock practically  _ throbbing _ with need, for several long minutes before Vesemir’s relaxed enough that Geralt can settle his hips against his ass, bottomed out. Geralt looks up, breath catching again with the sight laid out before him.

Vesemir’s hair, usually neatly swept back, is splayed out in a half-held mess on the comforter, silvery-gray locks in a sunray pattern. His eyes are closed, mouth open in a pleasured o. His shoulders shake a little, the sensation of being this full again all too much and not enough at once. “S-Sir?” Geralt breathes, unsure of what to do next. His lizard brain is telling him ‘full steam ahead, pound him into downstairs’ but that’s not what Vesemir deserves. He’d never get this chance again if he did that.

Topaz eyes lock on his. “Move. Slowly. Same pace as before, full thrusts each time, and settle at the deepest part each time y-you go forward.” His stomach flips at the total lack of control Vesemir has over his voice, but he nods and moves as directed.

It’s heaven, pulling out and pushing in again. The slow pace is usually too boring for Geralt, but nothing’s boring with Vesemir. The tight, wet clutch of Vesemir’s ass is almost his undoing several times in the next few minutes, fucking into him with the same mantra of  _ don’t come don’t come don’t come _ rattling through his head. Vesemir’s steady, even breaths hitch with every forward settle, and catches again when Geralt pulls back out.

“Come closer, press flatter against me.” Vesemir’s legs hook up around Geralt’s trim waist. He groans low and long when Geralt changes the angle, keeping time with himself as he fucks Vesemir nice and slow and deep. “Just use your hips, just like that. Good boy,  _ oh, fuck,  _ yes, you’re so good.”

Geralt keens at the praise and works his hips, the stretch of his muscles burning deliciously. “Should I touch your cock, Sir?” Geralt breathes.

“No, I’m not done with you yet.”

Their moans and noises fill the room, and the air grows hot and heavy between them. Through the windows, silvery moonlight beams against Geralt’s sweat-slick skin, giving him an ethereal glow. A few times, Geralt’s hips have to stutter and stop so he wouldn’t tip over the edge, but Vesemir allows it. “Touch me, and kiss me, boy. Everywhere but my cock.”

Geralt complies with fervor, hands spanning over skin like a conquering army, wanting to touch everywhere at once. His lips latch onto Vesemir’s mouth, and he kisses with the filthy excitement and motivation he’s had all night. He never once lets up on fucking him. “Doing so good, you gonna treat the others this good when they ask?” Vesemir asks when Geralt moves to kiss his neck.

“Yes, Sir!” Geralt cries, gasping against his collarbone. “So good, wanna be good.”

“You’re being so fucking good for me,” Vesemir rasps. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna come. Don’t you stop, and don’t you come until I tell you.” Geralt keeps the steady pace until Vesemir shoots his load over their bodies, his fist working his cock til he’s milked dry. Geralt stills his hips and bites down on his lip, hard. Vesemir’s tight body is clenching down around him greedily, like it’s trying to keep Geralt there forever.

“Fuck,” Vesemir breathes, blinking up at the ceiling and trying to regain conscious thought again. Geralt whimpers as he rolls his hips a little. “You pull out, slow now, boy.”

Geralt does as told, still high on the praise and what’s been practically two hours of edging. His dick is an angry red color, visible even in the dim light, and shiny with lube and his own precome. He trembles with exertion, trying to hold out just a little longer, just until Sir—

“Come, Geralt.”

He falls to his  _ knees. _ He manages to catch most of his spend in his hand, but he has no control over the string of drool leaking from his mouth or the way his whole body lists to the side. Vesemir moves quickly, catching him before he can glance his head off of the nightstand, and leaning him down onto the bed. “You’re such a good boy for me, Geralt,” Vesemir rasps, taking down Geralt’s hair. He cards his fingers through it, gently scratching at his scalp as he talks to him.

Geralt’s too deep in a cocktail of post-orgasmic numbness and subspace to be able to do much more than get up on the bed, but Vesemir loves this part. Geralt’s expression is so open and honest, his eyes blinking owlishly up at him, wordless. They don’t need words like this. Vesemir cleans them both off with a damp cloth, and quickly washes the lube out of himself before returning to bed.

His faculties a bit returned to him, Geralt worms under the covers when coaxed, and he cuddles up to Vesemir with singleminded intent: snuggle.

Vesemir simply smiles, kisses his head, and lets him.


	7. casting couch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vote.

When Jaskier wakes in Eskel’s bed, he’s alone. The silk sheets are cold beneath his hands, and he shivers, tucking further under the comforter. He peers around the room, curious to see if its furnishings would give him any glimpse into the mystery Eskel’s presented to him.

It’s done up in dark greens, blacks, whites, and wood-tones - as neutral as he can get. On the far wall, facing the bed, there’s a large charcoal sketch of a man standing in a desert, looking up at the starry sky above. There’s no one else in the drawing, and it feels somewhat isolated and lonely. Jaskier gets out of bed, walking closer. On the bookcases and cabinets lining the walls, Jaskier can see antique cameras and photography supplies. He knows baking and poetry are hobbies of Eskel’s. Still, photography seems just as suited to him: standing behind the camera, capturing life before you, suspending it forever in film, on glossy paper, behind glass.

He’s still a bit miffed at waking up alone, so Jaskier raids what clothes were left on the floor. That’s how he descends the stairs to the kitchen: in Eskel’s over-sized sweatshirt, Geralt’s socks, and his pink briefs, hair rumpled to all hell and sleep in his eyes.

All noise stops in the kitchen when he walks in, practically sleepwalking to the coffeemaker. He can’t read any of the controls without his glasses and makes a fussy noise, pouting until a warm mug of coffee is pushed into his hands. “Good morning, bunny. Sleepy?”

“Good morning, Daddy. I was rudely left in an empty bed this morning.” Jaskier sends a sassy look over to the blob of white hair at the table. The blob’s shoulders go up by their ears, and Vesemir chuckles.

“Breakfast waits for no man, not even for the cutest bunnies. Here. Lambert made crepes.”

“Ooh, crepes!”

The day is spent lazing until Geralt  _ again _ points out Jaskier has no club clothes, spurring a group shopping trip. Jaskier asks for nothing but a corn dog from the food court because he has a coupon in his wallet. Lambert just grins at the others’ flinches at the crumpled paper. Jaskier shares his corn dog.

* * *

The ride back in Daddy’s larger Bentley (because there’s  _ six _ to choose from in the garage) is spent with Jaskier giggling under several dozen shopping bags of clothes they wanted him to wear. “I wonder where Jaskier went,” Lambert says slyly. “It’d be a shame if we had to go look for him and be late to the club.”

“He might be skipping out on work if I didn’t know him better,” Eskel teased.

“We may have to get a leash,” Geralt suggests, to the joy of everyone else in the car.

“That is a fantastic idea, my boy.” Vesemir doesn’t look away from the road, but he can see one bright blue eye peek out between crumpled tissue paper in his peripherals. He gives Jaskier a wink. “I don’t want to alarm you, but I don’t think Jaskier’s ever worked in a club before. Lambert, have him shadow you at the bar.”

“And Plan B?” Lambert asks, apparently knowing something everyone else doesn’t.

“Eskel.”

* * *

They dress in black and disperse the moment they enter the club. Eskel and Vesemir head to a back room, and Geralt stands just inside the door, looking every bit a bouncer as the man outside. Jaskier follows Lambert to the bar, dons an apron, and hops between his feet, eager to please and begin.

“So typically they’ll say what exactly they want when asking for a drink. Just watch what we do for garnishes. We have a three-second pour behind the bar, and—” Jaskier hops his way right into the mirrored wall of bottles behind the bar. He can hardly hear Lambert over the music, and he squints to make out the words on the reference sheet. “When you’re moving around, keep to the right side of traffic, like when you’re driving.”

“I can’t drive,” Jaskier blurts out. Lambert’s brain shorts out for a moment before continuing.

“Okay, well, watch and learn, and stay right behind me as I go.” He turns to a woman waiting expectantly at the bar. “Hi!” Lambert says over the noise.

“VOKKACRAN,” the woman says. Lambert somehow understands. Jaskier is left with a confused expression while Lambert works, grabbing a glass off the stack, scooping it in the ice, before moving between a soda gun and a liquor bottle, counting the pour out loud for Jaskier, and finishing by adding juice, a lime, and a black straw. He one-hands it under a napkin with the club logo and takes her payment. It happens in under a minute.

“Alright, what d’ya learn.” Lambert wipes his hands on the apron and looks at Jaskier.

“Uh...what was that called?”

It doesn’t get much better from there. When Jaskier’s allowed behind the wheel, metaphorically, it goes about as expected, literally. The three-second pour is ignored in place of “trusting my heart to tell me when to stop,” which, in the hands of a depressed college student, is a pretty long fucking pour.

“Sugar, you gotta measure by what the card says; it’s inventory rules.”

Jaskier blushes, unsure of what to do besides try again.

The patrons are at least understanding because Jaskier’s so cute. Still, it gets to the point where he literally forgets he’s pouring in the middle of a conversation and suddenly has a lowball glass overflowing with whiskey.

“Listen, sugar, I like you, but maybe we can try again back at the penthouse?” Lambert winces, and Jaskier just nods in agreement.

“Plan Eskel then?”

“Yeah, Plan Eskel.”

* * *

Eskel has a slightly more important position than Lambert, in charge of back-of-house operations like inventory management and shift management. He is the go-between for floor workers and Vesemir and always has the answers when there’s a crisis.

“Alright, this is Jaskier, he’s gonna shadow me, and—”

“Hi!” Jaskier says excitedly. Lambert had given him the full glass of whiskey as consolation for failing bartending. The other workers give him smiles, and not all of them friendly.

“And...his word’s my word. Carry on.”

If there’s something Jaskier’s worse at, it’s delegation and leadership. Eskel doesn’t even have a reference sheet for his job, knowing all the club operations facts by memory alone, and he keeps a steady monologue about it as they work. They move bottles to and from the room, and Jaskier nearly throws his back out because he can’t lift heavy boxes the right way.

Eskel gives a soft sigh. “I’ll finish these, tell the barnacles on the delivery platform their smoke break was done ten minutes ago.”

“Okay!”

Jaskier goes to the platform, where a few bartenders and servers are gossiping and blowing smoke into the chilly winter air. “Hey, uh, your break’s done,” Jaskier says. He stiffens a little when they all glare at him.

“Sure. Yeah. We’ll be right in,” one waitress says dismissively.

Jaskier slumps, all confidence lost at once, and he retreats inside. Eskel doesn’t ask for a follow-up. When he passes by the delivery door again with Jaskier, they hear laughter out on the dock. Eskel sets his jaw and opens the door.

“I don’t recall you being paid hourly for breaks; you’ve been out here for forty-five minutes!” Eskel snaps. The group immediately extinguishes their cigarettes and rushes back in. When they’re gone, Eskel whirls on Jaskier. “I thought you told them to get back in.”

“I did!” Jaskier says, stomach dropping. “I thought they’d go when I told them.” Eskel’s frustration doesn’t dissipate, but it’s at least shoved down before he speaks.

“I need you to go find Geralt. I can’t babysit right now; they need to get a reminder of who signs their checks. On a fucking Saturday, I can’t…” he walks off, still muttering to himself.

Jaskier is at a loss, standing in the inventory room with whiskey on his hands and tears in his eyes. He didn’t mean for things to go this way. What if this is the fuckup? This is the other shoe that drops? Should he pack his bag, sit on his new bed for a few more hours before they take him back to his cold apartment? Shit, he didn’t even last a week.

He manages to make it out to Geralt, who sees him and makes a confused face. “What’s got you out here?”

“I…” Jaskier bites his lip and looks down.

“Bartending and inventory not work out for you?” Geralt says kindly, signaling to another bouncer that he’s taking a walk. They go to the stairs that lead up to Vesemir’s second-floor office and sit. It’s quieter. “What happened?”

“I just...I was trying, you know, and I can’t...I feel like I’m useless. I can’t pour drinks, and I’m clumsy, no one takes me seriously because I’m - I’m cute or something, and—”

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. Come here.” Geralt gives him a big bear hug and doesn’t let go until his breathing’s calmed down. “Vesemir’s got a couch up in his office. I’m sure he’d let you stay there.”

There’s a small green V that appears on his shoulder suddenly, like from a laser pointer.

“Oh my god, sniper—”

“No!” Geralt exclaims, laughing. He looks up to the mirrored glass of Vesemir’s office and smirks. “We’re being summoned.”

* * *

Vesemir’s office is enormous. It’s done in burgundies and dark woods, with black steel and plum accents throughout. The couch is a substantial black monstrosity that sits a comfortable distance from the front of Vesemir’s desk. When they knock on the heavy wooden door, a flash of light from inside tells them to enter. Inside the office is soundproof, which is good, as the office sits above the main DJ booth on the first floor. Geralt shuts the door behind them.

“Something happen I should know about?”

“Plan A and Plan B fell through, Sir,” Geralt says. Jaskier shrinks in on himself. “And I don’t think you want me to have Jaskier bouncing?”

“You’d be right. You can go. Bunny, come here.”

Jaskier keeps his eyes on the thick carpet as he approaches. The office is stiflingly silent. “I’m sorry, Vesemir,” Jaskier whispers. “I really wanted to impress them, I—”

“Hey, look at me.” Vesemir’s hands tilt Jaskier’s sad, pouty face up. His expression is kind and open, not in any way showing the slight embarrassment Lambert had, or the frustration Eskel had with him. “You tried. That’s what I’m proud of. You hear me?”

“Yes,” Jaskier whispers.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

The couch seems as fine a place as any to relax. He has a sentimental attachment to it, seeing as the first time he woke up in Vesemir’s arms was on that very couch, on Halloween night.

“What do I do if I can’t work down there? I can’t DJ, or—”

“Well, what are your business skills?” Vesemir asks, folding his fingers together on the tabletop.

A beat.

Jaskier sits up on the couch, straightening his back and adopting the typical posture they halfheartedly teach at job fairs. “Well, I’m in college right now, sir, and I was treasurer of a club in high school. I’m expected to be fairly good with my finances, and I’ve been told I’m very adept at people skills.”

Vesemir smiles a bit in amusement before clearing his throat and continuing. “Well, we don’t exactly have a job for you here, I don’t need a secretary, and most of the other positions are filled. Why do you want to work here?”

Jaskier’s breath hitches. “I find the environment invigorating, the staff interesting and efficient, and I think regardless of the positions I can offer, I’d be a good fit for any.” It’s an impressive answer, skirting the line between bland business-speak and double-entendre.

“I haven’t had a need for someone as beautiful as you on my staff before.”

_ Getting right to it, then. _

“I don’t have to be a distraction. I can just sit where you want me and look pretty. I don’t even have to open my mouth if you want.”

“Oh, but I do,” Vesemir says, leaning back in his chair. “Why don’t you open your mouth for me right now? Show me how wide.”

Jaskier blushes and bats his eyes. “Sir, I don’t know if that’s appropriate for a job interview…”

“It is for me. Besides, don’t you want this job?”

Jaskier bites on his lip and fidgets in a show of innocence and fake indecision. “I do…” He opens wide.

“Good, stay open like that for me. Could you open a few buttons on your shirt, I know it’s hot in here.”

Jaskier makes a high whimpering noise as his fingers brush his skin, overstimulated already. The noise is much louder, what with his jaw so wide, but eventually, there’s a few buttons open, revealing his chest hair and how far his flush has gone.

“Come on, I think you can open a few more than that…” Vesemir says, in that low rumbling tone that makes Jaskier’s head spin. “I’ll make you a deal: take the shirt off, and you can close your mouth.”

Jaskier’s mouth shuts with an audible  _ click _ of his teeth coming together, and he nearly loses a button getting the shirt off of him and onto the couch.

“Good, good…” Vesemir has only one hand on the desk now, the other palming himself beneath the surface. Jaskier bites at his lip and waits for instructions. “Why don’t you touch yourself? You seem like you need to get an edge off. I wouldn’t want to be nervous in an interview. Who knows what they’ll think?”

Jaskier lifts his shaky hands to his thighs, wiping off the sweat that had gathered, before slowly letting his fingertips trace against the thick seam of his jeans, leading up his inner thighs. He doesn’t look away from Vesemir once.

His shaky breaths are the only noise in the room, not even a thrum of bass. It’s like the whole world has fallen away, just the two of them here. Jaskier smiles at him, playfully bashful for the first time since sitting down. “Where else should I touch myself, sir?” Jaskier asks coyly.

“Keep teasing yourself like that; I like that.” The dance continues for several minutes, with Jaskier reaching up to squeeze over his erection just to take the edge down a bit. “Those pants look uncomfortable. Wouldn’t they be better off?”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” Jaskier fumbles at his fly and whines when his pants can’t get off fast enough. He’s left in his briefs on the leather couch. “That is really a lot better.” His shoes and socks end up in the small pile he’s created.

“Poor thing, come closer so I can see you.”

Jaskier stands and crosses the seemingly-endless distance between them. Vesemir pushes his chair out and stands, looming over Jaskier’s slighter frame with his own. He runs a possessive hand down his arm, squeezing him in places and making him squirm at the feeling, like he’s just a piece of meat. The feeling is heady and incredible.

“How good are you on your knees?” Vesemir asks,  _ sotto voce. _

“May I show you, sir?” Jaskier blinks up at him. Vesemir retakes his seat and directs Jaskier to kneel in the footwell of his desk, just like Geralt had been doing a few days ago as punishment. He can’t look away as Vesemir unzips his trousers and pulls out his cock, already half-hard from Jaskier’s laughable imitation of a striptease.

“I have work to do. Your job is to keep my cock warm, you understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“I’ll tell you when I want to come, but no sucking until then. Keep your hands behind your back.” Jaskier assumes the position and opens wide, ready for him.

Vesemir feeds him his cock, heavy and musky with his scent, and they take a few minutes just getting used to the position. When Jaskier finally relaxes and lets his eyes drift shut, he savors the feeling, the weight on his tongue that drives him crazy, sometimes.

Not this time. This time, he’s floating in a beautiful little pool of warmth, distantly aware of his body and that they’re in a semi-public place, doing this shamelessly. He makes a happy noise around Vesemir’s cock.

“There you go, bunny. Be good for me.” A hand pets through his hair, and he blinks up at him, all big blue wet eyes and sparkling adoration.

Jaskier isn’t sure how much time has passed. He jolts a little when Vesemir gets a phone call, but he doesn’t move. The ache in his jaw has dulled to a throb he can ignore, and he drifts back into that floaty place again.

Vesemir works while he kneels for him, and Jaskier is lost in the sensation, the dulled noise from being under the desk, the already-low lights in the office even dimmer. He feels warm and taken care of, and happy above all.

“I want you to make me come now, bunny.”

Jaskier slightly jolts with the order, but gets to work. He keeps his hands at his back, and bobs his head up and down Vesemir’s length, careless of the drool he’d let drip out of his mouth. It’s a wet blowjob, if Jaskier was an authority on it, but Vesemir doesn’t seem to mind. He’s seemingly finished his work, both hands coming down onto his head, guiding him. Jaskier presses down, down, down, swallowing around his cock, before pulling back and doing it again.

And then the door opens.

“Vesemir, the—” Eskel’s voice stops as he takes in the scene. Vesemir’s hands are moving rhythmically under the desk, and there’s a soft slurping noise and a half-garbled giggle. “Having fun?”

“The most fun. What is it?”

Jaskier tunes out the conversation, the burn of embarrassment at having been caught enough for him to speed up considerably. He’s taking Vesemir into his throat at every movement, and he can taste the precome easy as anything. The door closes again and Vesemir grips his hair.

“You like being caught, don’t you, bunny?” he asks.

Jaskier pants and nods. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Go on, finish what you’ve started. You’ve been a good bunny for me.” Vesemir takes his head in his hands and fucks his face. He chokes around it but doesn’t gag, whining with desire. He’s been good, he wants Daddy’s come—

Vesemir grunts and gasps in a breath a moment before Jaskier’s mouth is filled with his come, swallowing it down greedily, eagerly. Vesemir is still heaving for breath when he tucks his cock back inside of his trousers, and Jaskier’s shaking with the need to hold off his own orgasm, seeing Daddy fall apart like that.

“You may touch yourself, bunny,” Vesemir says, voice raspy with satisfaction.

In a flash, Jaskier takes himself in hand, and gives one, two, three jerks before he’s coming all over his hand. He whines and presses his forehead into Vesemir’s knee, panting and shaking all over.

God, what a fucking night this has turned into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y’all idk if I wanna even keep writing this, tbh. I suddenly went from liking the next chapter to absolutely hating it and the rest of this story. we’ll see what happens Tuesday lmao. And I guess you’ll know Thursday.

**Author's Note:**

> Subscribe to this work for updates on Mondays and Thursdays, and [say hi on Tumblr](https://kaermorons.tumblr.com/) if you have any questions! Thanks!


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